


1979

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous Time Travel, Eventual Smut, F/M, Kinda, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Torture, War, first wizarding war, side pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 151,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23118610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: In 1998, as Horcruxes continue to go unearthed and the war wages without hope of winning, Hermione Granger is given a mission. With a journal of clues and a single long-jump time turner, Hermione must go back to before it all began.She has to go back to the fall of 1979.Part 1 of 2. Part 2 coming 2021.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/James Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans, Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon
Comments: 1403
Kudos: 1264





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is dedicated to my lovely friend and rare-pair enthusiast, Frumpologist. 
> 
> You have sailed a thousand ships and I wouldn't be writing this without you blowing wind in my sails!

****

**April 1997**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy**

“I’m afraid I must again ask too much of you.” Dumbledore’s weathered voice shook, his mangled hand tracing the worn photograph in front of him. 

“You never ask too much, Headmaster. Whatever I can do.” Hermione sat on the edge of the cushioned chair, her lips lifting into a weak smile. Exhaustion had long since seeped into her bones, hours of research on top of her schoolwork and the worry of the impending war constantly weighing her down. She was tired. 

Unruly silver brows pulled low over his half-moon spectacles, and she found that the sparkle that had been ever-present these last six years was gone. “I am only human, Miss Granger. I’ve made so many mistakes, so many wrong turns when I was sure I was making the right ones. Now, we’ve gone too far. I’m afraid we may not be able to fix it going forward.” His lips folded into a tight line, nearly disappearing behind his wiry silvery beard. “We must go back.” 

“Sir?”

A tremor shot through his blackened hand as he offered her the photograph. She eyed it cautiously a moment before reaching out to take it into her lap. A cluster of people gathered in a small room, some grinning broadly, others looking as though they could barely stand. She’d seen the photo before, absently remembering it stuck to a mirror during their tenure as Dumbledore’s Army, but things had changed since then. 

She found that staring at the image brought on a wave of unfamiliar emotion, a connection that spanned decades and death. A grin stretched over her face. “Is that…” She pulled the photograph closer. “Is that Sirius Black?” 

“It is.” 

“And Professor Lupin?” Disbelief coloured her words, her finger dragging over his handsome face; he looked like a different person. Dumbledore hummed his agreement, and then her eyes caught on another person, one she wasn’t sure she’d seen before. There was something distinctly familiar about him, about the square set to his jaw or the riotous way his hair stuck up. “Is this Harry’s dad?”

Her gaze flickered up, landing on Dumbledore’s crooked smile, his hands folded neatly over his long white beard. “It is, and to his left, Lily Potter. That is the original Order of the Phoenix, taken in July 1981.” 

A small huff of surprise pushed past Hermione’s lips as she traced her fingers over the image once more. There were so many there, so many that she would never see again or meet at all. 

“What does this all have to do with me?” she asked, brows drawn together as she set the photograph back down on his desk. 

“If things do not go as intended, I need you to go back.” 

“Go back where?” 

“To the past.” There was a beat of silence as they stared at each other. As her lips parted, ready to retort, he continued. “I meant what I said, Miss Granger; I fear we can not fix this going forward. We must defeat Tom Riddle _before._ Before he marked Harry as his equal and set the prophecy in motion; before he made himself immortal.” 

The blood drained from her cheeks, eyes rounding. “Sir, I can’t—surely, there is someone else? Harry needs me, I can’t just—” 

“It is _you._ There’s no one else.” 

“Ron and Harry… Can they—” 

“If things continue on,” Dumbledore paused, eying his cursed hand for a moment before returning his gaze to her, “I will not be here. I have exactly one of these left.” From the confines of his desk drawer, he lifted a time turner and dangled it from his finger. Although, this one looked slightly different than the one’d she sported, two extra hour glasses of varying size nestled within the rings. 

“If in the Spring of next year you have not found the remaining Horcruxes,” Dumbledore continued, “These will find themselves to you by a most trusted friend.” He procured a small leatherbound notebook wrapped in cord and a velvet satchel clanged with coin when he placed them in front of her. “This has all you need if you’re to be successful.” 

“Successful?” Her brows tugged low, and she studied the journal between them, his fingers tracing the engraving on its surface, a bird—a _phoenix_ —rising from the ashes in a wake of flames. “And what, exactly, would constitute a successful mission?”

“You must destroy Tom Riddle prior to Halloween 1981.” 

  
  
  
  


**OCTOBER 1979**

**Flats over Darwin Street, No. 4B**

Hermione checked the journal— _again_. It was the right address, no doubt there, but it looked rather unimpressive. A grimy little stack of flats on the wrong side of town, with weathered shingles and dull yellow lights glowing from dusty windows. 

In the autumn of 1979, the First Wizarding War was coming to a head. The sides had been set, the numbers rising steadily in disappearances and deaths, turmoil in the Ministry; it was all a hideous mirror of the time she’d just left. 

Climbing the stairs, she felt the familiar pulse of anxiety thrum through her veins. It’d been present for days now as she prepared, readying herself for the days, weeks, _months_ to come. There was no end date, no guarantee she’d come home. There was only _this,_ a last-ditch effort to save the world. _No pressure at all._

Once on the fourth floor—and slightly out of breath, if she were being honest—she began her slow trudge towards No. 4B. Silently, she practised her speech for the countless time. There were moments like this that existed only to remind her that no matter how hard she prepared, she was utterly at the hands of fate. 

Stopping at the end of the hall, Hermione steadied her breath and quickly rapped her knuckles on the worn door. Inside, she heard the shuffle of feet and hushed voices. The door opened wide, and a girl no older than Hermione leaned casually against the door frame. She had long, wavy blonde hair that fell loose and full over her shoulders. Her jeans went up nearly to her belly button but her black tee shirt was cropped so high that a small sliver of ivory skin still shone through. 

“Help you?” the girl asked, a lilting Irish accent colouring her words. 

Swallowing the knot of nerves that had quickly tangled her vocal cords, Hermione nodded. “Hello. My name is Hermione Granger, and I need your help.” 

Her pale brows tugged together, and she straightened, craning her neck down the hall. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“Are you Marlene McKinnon?”

The girl in the doorway bristled, her eyes tightening. Her arm came up, resting on the doorjamb. There was a shuffling in the flat behind her, and suddenly a man with shaggy black hair and a serious set to his eyes came forward. “Everything alright, Marley?”

Hermione exhaled in relief, a smile curling her lips; she’d know his face anywhere. He was younger, sure, less weathered and untouched by the harsh realities of the years to come, but there was the same glint to his gaze that even Azkaban hadn’t been able to steal. “ _Sirius.”_

Sirius’ eyes never left her even as he crossed the room and fell onto the corner of the sofa, boots kicking up on the table. “Who’s your friend, love?” 

“Don’t know her. Thought you did.” Marlene turned back to Hermione, her pretty, pale blue eyes narrowing slightly. “What can we do for you?” 

“I need your help.” 

Marlene peeked over her shoulder, shrugging and then finally moving to the side, gesturing for Hermione to enter.

“Are we supposed to you know you?” Sirius asked, draping his arm across the back of the worn sofa. Marlene padded over to him and collapsed into the cradle of his arm. 

“I’m Hermione Granger. My situation is rather complicated and requires a fair bit of trust from the both of you, which I understand is a lot to ask.” Panic seized her throat as they laughed quietly with each other, and she tilted her chin in a vain attempt to regain ground. “I need you to take me to the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.” 

If she hadn’t thought to look for it, she would have missed it. Would never have noticed the way that they both stiffened and Sirius’ hand curled around the girl’s shoulder. 

“‘Fraid I’m not sure what yer talking about.” There was a smugness to Sirius Black that had been decidedly missing after twelve years in Azkaban; she wasn’t sure she enjoyed it much.

Steeling her reserve, she tried again. “I’m here to speak to Albus Dumbledore, head of the Order of the Phoenix. It’s a time-sensitive matter, and I need you take me to Longbottom Hall.” 

Marlene stole a glance back at Sirius and shrugged. “It appears she knows, Sirius.” 

His gaze darkened, and he ran his tongue along his teeth. “It appears she does.” 

xXx

They’d relocated, travelling via magical motorbike, which caused no shortage of duress to Hermione. How Marlene had taken to curling around Sirius’ back, all while Hermione was stuffed in the sidecar, was beyond her. They looked so at ease—even _that_ heightened her anxiety—surely they should be more diligent in the task at hand and less on Marlene petting her boyfriend’s thigh. 

They landed on a lawn in another part of London, Hermione trembling from the flight. Sirius offered his girlfriend a hand, steadying her as she unmounted the bike and then tossed his leg over the side, strolling for the modest house before them without nary a look back. With a chuckle, Marlene helped Hermione out, then began to fuss with her wind-blown blonde hair. 

“Don’t take it personally; he doesn’t like people,” the witch offered, as though that were supposed to make her feel better. 

The pair quickly followed behind Sirius, climbing onto a rickety porch covered in dust and dried leaves. The house itself looked sturdy enough, although it felt a bit rundown by nature. There were no other houses in sight, not even a road, and behind the house stood an endless forest. It was if the home had been dropped here on accident by the same tornado that had stolen Dorthy. 

Sirius whistled loudly through his teeth as he crossed the threshold. “Marauders! I’ve got a surprise!” 

Smirking over his shoulder once, he crossed the room into a dingy, poorly lit kitchenette. The refrigerator was a hideous shade of dull green and came complete with a soft whirring noise that appeared to be ever-present. Wrenching the door open, he retrieved a six-pack of beer then walked straight for Hermione, pulling one can free and offering it to her. 

Every one of his moves made him feel like a predator, circling her, waiting for her to slip so he could take her down. “No, thank you,” she squeaked, eyes rounding at the girlish noise that escaped her. 

His lip curled in an amused sneer and without taking his eyes off her, he held the beer out for Marlene who plucked it easily from his fingers and popped it open. _“Figures_ —seems we’ve got a duckling on our hands, Marley.” 

Grabbing a beer for himself, he dropped the container on the centre table with a loud thud. He didn’t sit, instead standing near the front of the room with his eyes intent on her. 

She gulped, long and slow, and averted her gaze, studying the dusty bare walls with great interest. In the main room were two lumpy arm chairs and a long sofa, all of varying fabrics that didn’t seem to match but didn’t exactly clash either. It seemed that putrid orange, avocado, and burnt brown were rather interchangeable in the late 70’s. 

There was a sad bookcase with a few haphazardly strewn books, a small round table with a few dirty dishes on it, and a magazine with a busty woman on the cover, scantily clad and pouting, sitting proudly on their coffee table. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the entire scene, quickly deducing that this was _not_ Longbottom Hall. 

Curiosity won out, and she turned to Marlene, still avoiding Sirius Black like a plague. “Where are we? This can’t be headquarters; I heard it was a manor in the country.”

Marlene’s lips parted, but Sirius interjected. “You know an awful lot about headquarters for someone not able to get there yourself. Strange, isn’t it?”

At that, her gaze snapped to the oddly combative teenager across from her. “Not to me, it’s not,” she replied with an easy shrug. “Now, if this isn’t headquarters, then I need you to take me there, or at least put me in touch with—” 

A door slamming down the hall silenced her and the sound of impending footsteps caused her to crane her neck around the corner. Her jaw fell open as another young man appeared, this one shirtless and buttoning up his denims, but not before Hermione caught sight of the curly thatch of hair behind his trousers that he was absently covering. A blush blossomed on her cheeks, and she quickly averted her gaze without even bothering to look at his face. 

“Who’s this?” A husky voice asked, followed quickly by the hiss of a beer opening. 

She finally looked at the newcomer, and her breath was quite nearly stolen from her lungs. There was no doubt in her mind that this was James Potter, his wavy hair as messy and black and unruly as his son’s. His jaw was slightly more square, light stubble covering it where Harry still boasted none. But there was more, something in the set to his eyes or the crooked way his lips quirked up before he stole a beer and took a long sip.

“I think she likes you, Jamie,” Sirius chuckled. The blush that had apparently taken up permanent residence on Hermione’s cheeks burned, and she quickly looked away. 

“Well, she’s got good taste, then.” James eyed her for a moment, then rose again with a quiet grunt and came to stand just in front of her. 

As much as she didn’t want to look at him again while he was quite _so_ naked, she knew this was some odd little test of power. Rolling her face towards his, she locked her gaze on his and raised her brow. Everyone was right, Harry did look like his dad—except the eyes. James’s were hazel, soft green bleeding into pale blue with a brown burst near the pupil. 

Thank Merlin they couldn’t hear the way her heart rioted against her ribs as she slowly dipped her gaze from his face to his bare torso, watching in wry amusement as he flexed his abdominal muscles. He was fit, thick bands of muscle and a smattering of dark chest hair, another trail just under his belly button. She shrugged and pulled a face. 

“Sorry, not my type,” she lied and returned her gaze to his face. “Now, if one of you will _please_ —” 

The front door opened and a much younger Remus Lupin walked in, glasses perched low on his nose and a fuzzy brown sweater adorning his frame. Without conscious volition, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Profes—” she bit her tongue, flinching at the near slip and breathing his first name into existence instead. _“Remus.”_

“Who’s this?” He jerked his chin in Hermione’s direction just as a woman appeared in the hall, and Hermione watched as her old professor’s expression faltered at the sight.

The newest of newcomers had long, pale legs that seemed to never end as they stretched from the hem of a large men’s t-shirt. She had thin, fiery-red hair that cascaded around her shoulders and the most vibrant emerald eyes. Hermione had seen pictures, but they didn’t do Lily Evans justice. Not even a little bit. 

James remained in front of Hermione, too close for her comfort, his stare hard and scrutinizing her every movement. But Hermione refused to concede, refused to take even a single step back as she glared back at him. 

“Are you going to move?”

His lips quirked and he tilted his head to the side. “Why, love, making you nervous?”

“No. You’re making me mad,” she deadpanned, her expression narrowed. 

“Who’s the girl?” Lily whispered to her friends, leaning lazily on the wall and crossing her arms, all whilst still half-naked.

_“For fuck’s sake.”_ Hermione groaned, palm landing on James’ bare shoulder and redirecting him to the side. “I’m Hermione Granger, and I’ve asked very politely— _several times_ —to be taken to Albus Dumbledore and the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. I know you’re all members, so will one of you, _please_ , take me there? It’s quite important or, I assure you, I wouldn’t bloody be here!” 

“ _Oh hoh hoh!_ ” Sirius cheered, a genuine grin breaking over his features as he tossed an empty beer can on the couch. “Kitten’s got claws. And how _exactly_ do you know anything about us?” 

Remus moved further in the room, silent but studious as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him. There was something curious about the way he moved, making a wide berth from the hall and Lily Evans only to come the long way round and stand next to Sirius. 

Turning, Hermione swept her curls off her neck and tugged her collar down, revealing a tiny rising red phoenix on her shoulder. She’d had to cast it herself; using a spell hidden deep in the pages of her journal, a magical tattoo that had existed during the first war. 

“How in the hell did you get that?” James scoffed, whipping his face around to his counterparts. 

Precariously pointing her wand to the small bird, she pressed into it once. _“Resurgemus Minor.”_ It wouldn’t be enough magic to summon anyone, but it was enough to alert them. She watched carefully as everyone in the room shifted, feeling the magical call of the mark. James played a hand over his biep, eyes darting up to hers. 

“And,” she continued, covering her tattoo and turning back to them. “If that’s not enough proof then, I know you’re Remus Lupin and that you have lycanthropy and that your friends call you Moony. You’re Sirius Black, or Padfoot, you take the shape of a shaggy and rather stinky black dog. Your London family residence is at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.” 

Hermione swallowed, eyes traveling to Lily, her lips pursed and brows tugged tightly together. “I know you’re Lily Evans and you’ve a sister, Petunia, but you’re not close.” Finally, she turned to James, who still seemed unconvinced. “And you’re James Potter.” 

“What?” His chin jerked, and he stepped towards her again, his lips fighting a smile. “No fun little memories about me?”

“You’re a pain in the arse. Although, I’m afraid that’s not something I brought with me—picked up that knowledge first hand,” Hermione offered flatly, brows inching towards her hairline before she turned to address the group at large. “I know you three boys, along with Peter Pettigrew, make up the Marauders. And I know that the war is about to take a turn for the worst.” Her throat tightened, and she pushed the final words out painfully. “Finally, I know that in 1998—the year I come from,” she paused, swallowing solemnly, “—most of the Order hasn’t made it.” Her gaze flickered to Remus, the last standing Marauder. “I’m meant to stop that from happening, so if one of you could _please_ take me to headquarters, I’ll begin my job and get the hell out of your hair.” 

The air in the room crackled with static magic, each of them sharing nervous looks with one another. Slightly to her right, James lifted his arm, bringing his hand up to massage the back of his neck as he turned to the rest of the room. She stole a peek at the small phoenix on the inside of his bicep, and her breath caught embarrassingly in her throat. 

Remus pulled his glasses from his face, cleaning them on his shirt tail. 

Sniffing, Hermione lifted her chin just barely and fixed her stare on him. There was a phrase—a mantra or motto, of sorts—that had been written on the first page of the journal. She tossed it into existence on a prayer. “The phoenix never flies alone.” 

Remus’ pale gaze flickered around the room and he shrugged. “That we don’t. Let’s get her to HQ.” 

xXx

**A/N: Welcome to 1979! Thanks so much for reading along and I hope you’ll give me some grace if headcanons and canon don’t match up here. I’m just doing this for fun :)**

**Endless thanks to my Alpha’s on this piece: MCal and Ravenslight and my beta: NuclearNik.**

**Would love to know what you think!**

**Updates weekly on Thursdays.**

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

October 1979

Longbottom Hall

Despite it being two decades prior, Albus Dumbledore remained nearly the same. Truth be told, she couldn’t find a single difference in him at all, and he seemed to be completely at ease with the time-travelling witch across from him. 

Slowly— _deliberately_ —he read the scroll many times through. It was enough times that Hermione had begun to squirm and shift, her bum going numb from sitting so long in a hard wooden chair. Finally, when she was about to beg for respite, his blue eyes snapped up over his half-moon spectacles and locked onto her. 

“This missive is from myself.” 

“Yes.” 

“And in it, I state that the time you are coming from is 1998?” 

She gulped. “That’s right.” 

Waving his knotted fingers over the now-discarded scroll, he peered back at her. “In this letter, I also warn myself of many casualties to come. It says that we do, indeed, end Tom Riddle’s reign of terror, but that he returns through the creation of dangerously dark artefacts.” 

“Right.” She sighed. “Horcruxes. And yes, it’s true. All of it. I was sent back to help. I know the pieces we’re looking for, the pieces he’s created by now, and we’ve got to destroy them—and him—prior to Halloween 1981.” Reverently, she placed the journal on the table between them, pushing it gently closer to him. _“You_ gave me this; it’s most everything we need to end the war.” 

Canting his head ever so slightly to the side, Dumbledore loosened a tight breath. “What happens on Halloween 1981?”

She chewed on that question a moment, thinking of all the implications of that night; of how one single moment could ripple out for decades to come. _“Everything,_ sir.” 

xXx

Longbottom Hall was a lovely country English manor; nothing like the shabby, beat up HQ from her time at Grimmauld Place. No, Longbottom Hall was flooded with bright, natural light and pale, flowery wallpaper. Even the thick clouds hanging low outside the windows couldn’t banish the cheerful mood that the decor set. 

Heart pounding, Hermione stood just behind Dumbledore as he filled in the small group gathered about her sudden appearance. It wasn’t the entire Order; the Weasleys were missing, along with Moody and several others. As he spoke, her gaze roved the room. Near the front of the table was a slight couple, a tall man with wiry glasses and a crinkled brow and a girl with short, tawny hair and soft features. The Longbottoms. 

A handsome man with a broad set of shoulders and curly blond hair sat beside them—Hawthorne McLaggen—and next to him, a girl with a severe glare marring her pretty face. A few more faces Hermione had memorised in preparation for her trip were clustered around a long table and finally, she landed on the most familiar faces in the back of the room. Sirius stood with his arm slung over Marlene’s slender shoulders, Remus next to them. Then it was James, standing stock-still with his arms crossed over his broad chest and Lily draped over his back, resting her temple on his shoulder. 

She gulped and turned away, refocusing on the matter at hand. 

“Miss Granger is to be given every clearance. This mission is of the utmost importance.” Dumbledore paused, turning towards her and gesturing for her to come forward. “The floor is yours.” 

“Thank you, Professor.” She nodded and stepped up to the table, pulling scrolls from her beaded bag and flattening them magically to the table. “These are specifically what I’m looking for. They’re dark artefacts that are paramount in the destruction of You-Know-Who—” 

“What are they?” A thin boy with tight features piped up, and when Hermione looked at him, the breath was nearly knocked free of her lungs. Peter Pettigrew. 

Gathering her wits, she returned her gaze to the images in front of her. “Horcruxes.” 

“Never heard of ‘em,” James Potter scoffed from the back of the room, and Hermione couldn’t help the cutting glare she shot at him. She didn’t want to dislike him, but her irritation towards him continued to grow. 

“I’m not surprised.” Her flippant tone made his jaw clench, and Hermione smirked back at him before returning her attention to the images laid out on the table. “These are the ones we know of in my time. I know where some of them are, but the others… Without Harry, I don’t—”

“Harry?” Alice Longbottom interrupted, brows rising toward her hairline.

_Shite_. She hadn’t meant to say that. With every ounce of will that she had, Hermione fought the urge to look at James and Lily. “Yes. My friend, Harry. He’s important in all this. The ultimate hope is that while I’m here, we defeat Riddle once and for all but if we don’t, then he’s our only chance in the future.” 

“So what do you need from us?” Alice continued, her voice kind but fragile. Hermione smiled, noting the subtle traces of Neville in her delicate features. 

_“Help._ Which I know seems a broad stroke, but it’s what I need. Even if we find the Horcruxes, we have to destroy them beyond repair. I’ll need people working actively to track down a solution. And more so, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I do need help to track these down—” 

“We’ll do it.” Sirius lifted a finger, his elbow still slung around Marlene’s neck. 

Hermione’s eyes rounded, jaw falling open as she uncharacteristically stuttered. “You—you will?”

Sirius looked to his friends, then down to Peter at the end of the table, nodding at him once. “Sure. We’re in need of a little adventure—eh, boys?” 

James smirked and rolled his gaze back to her, shrugging. “Why not?” 

Huffing out a sharp breath, she snapped her fingers, gathering her belongings into neat stacks and muttering under her breath. “Brilliant.”

Once she’d packed up, she turned to Dumbledore. With the room blooming to ambient noise, she asked him where she might stay until her task was complete. 

“There are rooms here in Longbottom Hall, well equipped for members of the Order who need rest. Hogwarts, of course, is always open to you as well.” 

“No need there, ‘eadmaster.” Marlene appeared, bright grin and belly button still on display. “Birdie can stay with Lil and I. We got the extra room.” 

The rest of the Marauder clan curled around them and for the first time since, Peter was also in tow, quiet and tucked near the back behind James, but there all the same. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose—” she said, squirming. 

“Oh, wouldn’t worry about that, love.” James grinned at her, a strange sparkle twinkling in his eyes. “You’ve already bombarded our lives and warned us of our untimely deaths. I hardly think it’s an imposition now. More of a self-preservation tactic.” 

Baring her teeth in a weak attempt at a smile, Hermione slung her beaded bag over her shoulder and said farewell to Professor Dumbledore. “Guess I’m coming with you lot, then.” 

“Aw,” Sirius crooned, wrapping his elbow around her neck and dragging her in to rustle her hair. “Don’t be so _Sirius._ ” He paused to waggle his brows, and Hermione quickly detangled herself and shoved him off, smoothing her now tempestuous curls as she growled at him. “We’re really quite fun; you just have to know us to love us. Except Peter—no one loves Peter,” Sirius amended, and the wizard in question glowered and playfully shoved his friend in the back. “Just yanking your dick, Petey.” Sirius turned to her, dropping his voice low like the two of them were conspiring in something. “He’s so sensitive.” 

Groaning, Peter stepped forward. He stood just about her height, maybe an inch or two taller, and his lips lilted in a weak smile. “I’m the last of them: Peter Pettigrew. How d’yah do?”

“Hermione Granger.” She nodded once, quickly taking his hand out of years of politeness driven into her brain and continued following the crowd. 

Once out on the lawn, Remus, Peter, and Lily quickly Apparated, smoke billowing into the air to signal their departure. Hermione stared forlornly at the dreaded motorbike, her lips pulling down into an exaggerated pout. 

They were farther from the flat now, _much_ farther, which meant a longer ride in that rickety sidecar that felt at serious risk of falling off over London, with the way the bloke drove. 

“Jamie,” Sirius called, climbing across his bike and dragging Marlene across his lap. “You’ll make sure the birdie gets back to the girl’s flat, yeah? I’ve got important business to attend to.” The witch giggled and kissed him deeply, and Hermione couldn’t help but gape at the pair of them. With Marlene dangerously perched against the handlebars, the bike growled and hissed, the lights flickering on and temporarily blinding Hermione. 

Rushing to cover her eyes, she was blindsided as James shouted his assent and wrapped a thick arm around her waist. 

_“Wait!”_ she shouted, just as a sickening pull of magic tore her across Britain. 

When the world stilled, Hermione braced herself against the nearest thing she could reach that wasn’t bloody swirling, and her eyes clenched shut as she took long, deliberate breaths through her nose. 

“I’m going to throw up,” she managed, bringing her fist up to her lips. 

“Ah, don’t be so dramatic.” A gentle hand wrapped around her hip, and her eyes shot open. 

She was sitting in the lap of one James Potter, and her eyes nearly bugged from her skull at the realization. 

“ _Ack!”_ she cried out, crawling backwards until her back was pressed against the wall. As her fingers pressed into a soft mattress, covered in a red and gold quilt, she realised for the first time where she was. “Did you seriously Apparate me into your bedroom?”

He pulled a face in his all righteous mockery, feigning innocence as he looked around. “Damn, did I? My mistake, love. Meant to take you to Marley’s.” The playful smirk twisting his face made her eyes narrow into slits as she flattened herself further against the wall. 

“Why are you pestering me?” she hissed, her nose wrinkling in disdain. “I’ve not done anything to you, and while clearly it seems to be just a horrifying personality flaw, it’s really quite annoying.” 

“It’s not pestering— _it’s flirting.”_ His perfectly white teeth sank into his bottom lip and Hermione sucked in a sharp gasp, her jaw falling open. 

“How would your girlfriend feel about you Apparating another girl into your room and then flirting with her? Although, I have to tell you, even though I don’t have much experience at this, you’re shite at flirting.” Without waiting for an answer, she clamored from his bed and sprinted for the door. She’d just barely twisted the handle when he pushed it shut and invaded her space. 

“It’s sweet of you to notice, but I don’t have a girlfriend.” His lips quirked as he stared down his nose at her. 

Turning, she simmered her rage, engulfing flames transforming to low burning embers. Resting against the door, she peeked up at him, a coy smile tugging at her lips. “James?” she breathed, shoulders rising and falling in time with her breath. 

“Yeah?” He stepped into her, his chest brushing up against hers as his gaze drifted to her lips. 

“I know we just met, and we don’t really know each other—” With a hard flick of her wrist, her wand fell into her grip and she quickly brought it up, stabbing it into his neck. It was delightful watching his features fall into a defeated glower. “But I’m actually not so bad with a wand. Top of my class at Hogwarts, took down a troll first year, fought some Death Eaters, and have been on the run hunting Dark Lord’s splintered soul for the better half of a year.” With a soft growl, she pressed her wand tip more firmly into the hollow of his throat. _“Don’t fuck with me.”_

Despite the fact that her speech was impassioned and intended to be terrifying, the stupid bloke grinned and took a step away. “Whatever you say, love.” 

Clearing her throat, she turned and wrenched the door wide, quickly marching from his room. Upon arriving on the other end of the hall, she remembered she was in the wrong damn flat. 

To her left, James grabbed one of the beers still sitting on the centre table and pulled his wand free, casting a cooling charm on it and then cracking it open. 

“Want one, love?” He smiled up at her before taking a slow drink and somehow, just like that, James Potter claimed the spot as the most irritating person she’d ever met. It was completely impossible that he was in any way related to Harry.

The door opened and Remus entered, his eyes narrowing at James relaxing on the sofa. “Why did I know you were going to be here, Jamie?”

“I _do_ live here.” 

Without another look in his friend’s direction, Remus straightened and fixed a familiar smile on his face. “Sorry about Prongs. I promise we’re not all so—well, we’re not so much.” 

From the couch James groaned, and in her peripheral vision, she could see him tilt his beer can to his lips. “You’re playing favourites again, Moony. Sirius is far worse than I am.” 

Flinching, Remus acquiesced and held his hand out to her. “Right, well, I’m not as bad as them. Peter’s all right too.” 

Warmth bloomed in her chest as she smiled at her old friend. “I’ve handled worse, but thank you for the apology.” 

“Do you want to tell us about what we’re meant to be looking for?” Remus asked, gesturing for the armchair which she quickly took. 

Hermione shuffled through her bag and pulled free the photographs. 

“This here—” she pointed to the first photograph,“is the diary of Tom Riddle, and as far as I understand, it’s now in the possession of Lucius Malfoy.” 

James had been lounging in the corner of the sofa, but something visibly perked in him at the mention of that name and he shuffled closer, leaning forward over his knees. 

“This ring here, I know what village it’s located in; Professor Dumbledore gave me that, at least. The locket—” She paused, wracking her brain for the information tucked away in her journal. “I’ll need to talk to Sirius for that. Dumbledore thinks there are more. In a memory Tom Riddle confessed to wanting to make seven.” Both men gaped at that, sputtering at the thought. “But this is all I have… a handful of pages with half formed thoughts.”

She stared thoughtfully at Dumbledore’s neat scrawl before continuing. “There is a note here that may link the Lestranges to the cup of Helga Hufflepuff.” 

Snorting, James ran a hand through his messy black hair, his eyes lit with amusement.“The Lestranges? “Those twits can’t possibly have anything to do with all this. They barely know the right ends of their wands.” 

It felt like she’d swallowed glass as she nodded, remembering the list of crimes committed by those ‘two twits,’, as he’d deemed them. “I assure you, that both Rudolphus and Rabastan Lestrange are _very_ dangerous, but it’s not so much _them._ Dumbledore believes the cup was given to Bellatrix Lestrange; she’s the one who places it in the vault. I’ve just no idea when she gets it.” 

“ _Bellatrix?_ ” James coughed, choking on his beer as he rocked in laughter. “You’re barking, love. I’m not saying the bird is a breeze to get along with or anything, but she’s certainly not—”

Remus erupted, growling and rubbing at his temple. “Merlin, Prongs!” 

At the same moment, Hermione snapped. _“She is!”_ Her voice echoed around the barren room. “I know, all right? I know it’s a lot to take in, but this will all go a lot smoother if you trust that I’m not exaggerating every damned thing!” The silence was fraught, and she winced at its sudden presence. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what this is like for you. I don’t mean to be insensitive, it’s just… I need you to trust me.” 

James finished off his beer and set it aside, rubbing his large palm across his face as he looked to Remus. After a long moment of silent conversation shared between the two Marauders, James shrugged. “We’ll start as soon as possible, then. Whatever you need, just tell us where to start.” 

Relief flooded her chest, and she sagged happily under its presence. “Thank you,” she breathed. “We start here.” She pointed to the ring. “But I’ll also need to talk to Regulus Black… and possibly stalk Lucius Malfoy.” 

At the name, Remus’ eyes blew wide, his lips coming together in a tight purse and Hermione’s gaze shot over to James, who was laughing into his hand. “You have impossibly difficult requests. You know that?” 

With a mirthless laugh, she flicked her wand and collected her materials, thinking of what she was going to have to ask of these boys before the end. “We’re just getting started, I’m afraid. Professor Lupin—” 

“Professor?” Remus rose to his feet, a curious tilt to his brows and a smile tugging at his lips. “Now _that_ is surprising, but Remus will do for now. Or Moony if I’m being wolfish.” 

“You’re _always_ wolfish, Moony. What’s that saying? Wolf in sheep’s clothing?” James knocked his boot into Remus’ knee and in turn, Remus shoved him back. 

“Right. Sorry.” She shook her head. “Old habits, and all that. Would you help me to the other flat? I’d ask _Mister Potter_ but I fear I’d only end up back in his bedroom,” she deadpanned, turning with a flat stare to the man smirking on the sofa. 

“She’s a fast learner; I’ll give her that.” Clapping his hands, James rose and sauntered down the hall; she watched him go, fascinated by the way he moved.

Remus startled her by speaking from just over her shoulder. “One day. One of you witches is going to have to fill me in on how he does it while being such an insufferable git.” 

“Sorry?” she asked, turning with her brows tightly knit. 

“Girls are always so bloody infatuated with him; I’ve no idea how he does it.” 

“I’m not—” A blush crawled up her neck and her jaw fell open. “That’s not—” she sputtered awkwardly, ignoring the sly smile on Remus’ lips. 

“It’s okay. You wouldn’t be the first one. Something about a Potter, I tell you.” Remus chuckled to himself and held out his elbow for her. Wrapping her fingers around his forearm, she was struck by the truth of that simple sentiment. 

  
  


xXx

Appearing in Lily Evan’s flat, for the second time was quite surreal. It was small and rather dingy, sparsely decorated but still far more so than the boys. Pushed up against the wall was a hideous orange sofa, woven yellow threads making an intricate pattern. Sitting there, legs wound up under her and a book open in her lap, was Harry’s mum. 

“Did James make a fool of himself?” the ginger witch asked, her nose wrinkling, but otherwise unaffected.

Stepping farther into the room, Remus rested his hands on the back of a dusty armchair, rolling his eyes.“Of bloody course, he did. Apparated the poor girl right into his bed.” 

A furious blush crept up Hermione’s neck, and she began sputtering with a weak defence about nothing happening. Lily burst into laughter, waving her off with a half-hearted dismissal. 

Her flippant attitude irked Hermione, and she pursed her lips tightly taking a sharp step forward. “Is there somewhere for me to stay?” 

“Hmm?” Lily had already found herself distracted, her eyes tracing the cover of her book. 

“To sleep? I was told I could stay here for the duration of—well, for now. Is there a room or should I head back to…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze caught on Remus, staring at Lily with purposeful intent. She felt privy to something private, something horribly not meant for her, and when Lily turned back, she stole a quick glance at Remus before settling on Hermione. 

“Sorry, of course. Room at the end of the hall. Not much in there, I’m afraid. But it’s a bed.” 

Hermione’s gaze flitted between Remus and Lily, puzzle pieces slowly clicking into place, and when Remus noticed he cleared his throat and straightened. “Right, well, better be off.” He smiled weakly. “Hermione.” His lips folded into a tight line as he nodded in her direction, then turned to the other witch in the room. _“Lil.”_ With a quiet crack he was gone, and Hermione felt uncomfortable in the space left behind in Lily Evan’s home. 

There were a million things she wanted to ask her; things that Harry would have desperately wanted to know, but they all fell flat on her tongue. With a resigned breath, she turned for the hall, only to be halted by Lily speaking again. 

“Sorry about earlier,” she said quietly. “With me being half-naked and all. Wasn’t expecting company—especially company from the future.” When her chin lifted, Hermione was rendered speechless by the ferocity of her green eyes; it was like seeing her dear friend, even from decades away, and idly, she wondered what he might be doing, or if they’d had any luck. 

Hermione again felt too close, invading the poor witch’s privacy, and she shifted her feet where she stood. “Oh, that’s—no need to apologize.” 

“I’m a bit—” Lily’s beautiful features crumbled as she tossed her book on the floor—causing Hermione to wince—and she folded in on herself. “Embarrassed,” she finally choked out. “I’m not the kind of witch who—” 

“Lily, it’s really—” Words failed her and she took a few cautious steps forward, unsure how she was meant to comfort the stranger. “I’m not, well, I mean to say that I understand. It’s not quite so taboo where I’m from.” She flinched; she was doing a truly horrendous job at easing the girl’s discomfort. “I mean, it kind of is—but I’m not judging you for having premarital sex or anything.” 

A loud guffaw burst from Lily’s lips, and she wiped frantically at her damp cheeks. _What in the hell was happening?_

“Not about that.” Sighing heavily, Lily choked out a final laugh and turned again towards her new flatmate. “It’s complicated. Sorry, this isn’t the proper way to greet someone, and I swear I’m not always such a Hufflepuff.” Rising to her feet, she crossed the few steps and offered her palm with a false, albeit bright, grin. “I’m Lily Evans, officially.” 

Smiling weakly, their palms touched. “Hermione Granger. Pleasure.” 

xXx

**A/N: Hello! I am posting early! Normally updates will come on Thursdays but I was getting a bit impatient since the response to chapter one was** **_so_ ** **lovely! I can’t tell you properly how much your reviews and encouragement mean to me! I try to respond to reviews when time allows but rest assured, I read and cherish every one as it comes into my inbox.**

**If you’re curious, Hermione left 1998 in April, before visiting the Lovegoods, Easter, and Malfoy Manor. So the information available to her is limited to the notebook and not the events that took place after.**

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter and with all the chaos in the world, I hope you are safe and healthy.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**Alpha’s: Ravenslight & MCal**

**Beta: Nuclear Nik**

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

October 1979

Little Hangleton

“Say—” James invaded Hermione’s space, peering over her shoulder at the journal in her hands. “What are you always looking at in there?

With a flick of her wrist, she slammed the notebook shut, quickly wrapping the cord around its binding. “It’s nothing. Information I need as it pertains to our mission.” 

“You took notes?” Sirius asked around a yawn, stretching his arms up over his head before settling them on the sharp cuts of his hips. 

“No. Well, some of it—” Irritation bubbled to the surface, and she flattened her features at the three boys behind her. “Stop asking so many questions. My notes suggest that it’s just up this hill and to the right. It’ll be heavily enchanted, so it’s important we keep an eye out.” 

“Right,” Remus added slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Uhm, eyes out for what, though?” 

Anguish coiled in her belly, and she gnawed on her lip. “I don’t know.” The confession didn’t sit well with the three boys, each of their expressions faltering. “But we’ll know when we see it.” 

Without another word, Hermione turned and began trekking up the winding path bordering the outside of the small English village, Sirius Black quickly falling in step beside her. 

Little Hangleton had not been the easiest to traverse to, especially since she’d been relegated to the sidecar of Sirius Black’s motorbike yet again. The other two had gone on broomback, weaving playfully through the air with each other and barrel rolling around Sirius and herself. She had arrived slightly green and very nauseous.

What she’d been reading, before James Potter had so rudely interrupted, were notes from Albus Dumbledore written in 1996. The annotations proved most helpful, detailing his theories on the locations of the horcruxes. 

Looking through the pages, she couldn’t help but be angry at him, even though he was long gone. He knew so much more than he’d ever told Harry, let alone her: clues, spells, crudely drawn maps... Information they had desperately needed. 

_“Oi!”_ Sirius cried, turning around to face where Remus and James were trailing behind. “Where’s Petey?” 

Hermione stiffened, her throat feeling all at once too hot. Thankfully, Remus answered. “Had something to do with the twins, fuck if we know.” 

“Well, someone needs to tell him to quit skivin’ off,” Sirius grumbled, turning to face the same direction as she was. At some point, she resolved to tell Sirius about his fate at the hands of Peter Pettigrew. If Hermione was still unsuccessful, then she would at least take care to right some wrongs before the end; the imprisonment of Sirius Black would be one of them. “Tell me, love,” Sirius edged, eyeing her playfully. “Do you know me where you’re from?”

Her lips quirked into the ghost of a smile and she quickly glanced his way before setting her eyes on the way ahead. “Yes.” 

“Am I as devilishly handsome then as I am now?” He turned again, his combat boots stomping into the soft earth as he trudged along backwards. “Still as disarmingly charming?”

Snorting, she rolled her eyes and levelled him with a pointed stare. “Charming? _Yes_ . Handsome?” She pulled a face, her nose wrinkling. _“Eh.”_

Sirius’s features fell into a glower, and Remus barked a laugh from behind them. They began arguing, debating about the merits of Sirius Black and how he’d age in the years to come. He was quite confident his jawline would withstand the test of time, while Remus and James took the piss about to interject on his behalf, always siding with an underdog, a shimmer of warning magic washed over. 

Sirius seemed to feel it too, pausing his step and turning towards a thatch of brambles and overgrown bushes. Hermione followed him and within seconds, the other two were hot on their heels, Remus sniffing in the air and breaking through the group. “Smell that, Paddy?” 

“Aye. Dark magic…” Sirius drew his wand, the others quickly following suit and taking a few steps towards the overgrown shrubbery. 

James turned, jerking his chin in her direction. “You stay here, we’ll—” 

A scoff tore from her lungs, her features masking into a horrified expression. “Not bloody likely! If you think that’s the case, you’ve got another thing coming.” 

“It’s not safe,” he warned, taking a step towards her. 

She wrinkled her nose; his too-tight t-shirt was distracting her from her ire. “I do all sorts of ‘not safe’ things all the time. Travelled twenty years in the past to save you lot from dying. I’m not sitting out here and waiting for you; I’m not a damsel. I don’t need saving.” 

Pushing past them, she flourished her wand, parting the mess and revealing a small grey shack standing on little else than its bones. 

“I’m starting to think she’s the fucking dragon,” Sirius grumbled, shoving James hard in the shoulder with a smirk. With a yank, he tugged his shirt over his head, revealing a chiselled abdomen completely void of hair. Hermione’s jaw fell open before she quickly snapped it shut, and averted her gaze, a blush crawling up her neck. “I’ll check the perimeter, don’t enter till I’m back.” 

Before Hermione could object, he was shrinking, his limbs transforming as he crouched low. Finally, in Padfoot’s proper form, he cocked his head at her and she couldn’t help but grin and sink to her knees, reaching out for his ear. “I forgot how much more I prefer you like this.” 

He nipped at her finger, not enough to truly frighten her, but enough to make her laugh and then he was gone, tearing off into the woods. 

_“You didn’t need to take your shirt off your smarmy git!”_ Remus called after him, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Bloody show off.” 

“You’re not surprised by that?” James queried, making a long circle around her and nodding in the direction Sirius had just run off in.

Shaking her head, she turned back for the remains of the shack, casting a simple revealing spell. The enchantments were strong, her magic washing against a clear dome and fizzling into nothing. “I’m no stranger to Padfoot. I will admit I haven’t spent much time with him, but he’s always been rather fond of being shifted.” Another spell bounced off the ward, and she cursed under her breath. 

James stepped into her space, the heat of his chest radiating against her back and causing a trill of nervous energy to chase up her spine. “Do you know about the rest of us then?” His voice was low and husky, oddly flirtatious, and she whipped around to study him. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” Her sharp tone cut through the previously friendly atmosphere, and Remus choked on his laughter, muttering something about finally someone seeing through Jamie’s bullshit. 

“Doing _what_ , love?” James’ head canted to the side, his fingers coming up to tuck a curl behind her ear. 

Lip curling in a sneer, Hermione lifted her wand, sending a warning of static magic against his wrist. The jolt earned a sharp cry as he yanked his hand back into his possession. His lovely hazel eyes narrowed, and he stared back at her as though she were a rune he was desperate to decipher. 

Their eyes remained locked tight on each other as a rustle of branches and leaves sounded to their right, signalling Sirius’ return. “No Muggles nearby; closest ones are up on top of the hill—what are these two doing? They look about to snog.” 

Hermione gasped, breaking her stare to gape at Sirius. “Absolutely not!” 

“I think you’ll be singing a different tune in no time at all, love. Can’t you feel this pull between us?” James taunted, his brows arching together. “It’s unstoppable.”

“Are you seriously still hitting on me? You have a girlfriend—” 

“ _No,_ I don’t. I told you that already. Lily and I aren’t—” 

“Listen, love birds,” Sirius barked, marching up until he was breathing down on them. “Are we gonna vanquish this Dark Lord or not? Maybe you could save this rising unresolved sexual tension for another time?”

Releasing a harsh huff, Hermione turned back toward the problems at hand. Steadying her breath, her very _magic_ , she raised both hands in the air, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt the familiar tug of magic from her core. _“Revelum Caligo.”_

Across the hood of the ward, intricate runes appeared, seemingly carved into its magic in deep slashes. Stowing her wand, she quickly pulled the journal free and flipped to the section regarding the Gaunt house. It detailed the village and the approximate location, the spell to find the locket beneath the floorboards, but the runes were not noted. 

“I don’t know,” she breathed, flipping to another page and then another. When she’d exhausted what the notebook had to offer, she closed it with a loud sigh. “It doesn’t say. We could try reversing the runes, but I’ve never seen them like this. They’re…” Trailing off, Hermione couldn’t help the sinking pit forming in her belly, cold dread pulling her down as violent waves of emotion swelled and crashed inside her. 

Two hands found her waist, tugging her back a few steps and as though a fog lifted around her, she sucked in a greedy breath, blinking several times. 

“They’re fucking evil,” Remus growled, his hands falling away from her hips as he stepped up. “This here,” he paused, pointing to a deeply slashed symbol in the centre, “it’s the rune for sacrifice. These are blood sealed.” Turning, his lips tilted downward. “Sorry boys, this is up to you.” 

“Fucking brilliant,” Sirius grunted, pulling his wand free yet again. “What about you, kitten? What’s your blood status?” 

Hermione bristled, her lips pursing tightly as she filled her lungs with desperately needed air. “Why on earth does that matter? I didn’t think you lot would—”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Sirius scoffed, slicing his palm open, James mirroring the action behind him. “We don’t give a shite what it is except that the more pure-blood offered, the easier this will go down.” 

“Oh.” She squirmed, draping her curls off to one side as she sniffed and tilted her chin in the air. “I’m Muggle-born.” 

Sirius shrugged, but it was James whose gaze lingered a long moment, blood dripping from his non-wand arm. The trance broke and the two pure-bloods stepped up to the ward, raising their palms to the shield of magic in unison. 

_“Sanguinem fratris redderet debitum. Sanguinem fratris redderet debitum.”_ They chanted the spell over and over again.

“What’s it mean?” Hermione asked, nearly breathless as she watched the blood absorb into the ward. 

Remus cleared his throat, fishing around in the pocket of his jacket. “More or less? Blood of the brother, the debt is paid.” 

Hermione could feel the effect of the ward reach out to her, its cold fingers winding around her heart and clenching until she nearly fainted from it, stumbling backwards into Remus’ arms. His large hands slid around her elbows, and he backed her away further. 

“Here,” he whispered, pulling free a small piece of chocolate. “It’ll help.” 

It was the simplest of memories, Professor Lupin with a bit of milk chocolate, but it alone pushed away the evil permeating through the air. She slipped the chocolate between her lips, watching as the ward began to fade away as it melted on her tongue.

“How do they know how to do this?” she breathed, listening in rapture to their monotonous casting. Just then James wavered, swaying in his spot before quickly shaking his head and righting himself. 

Remus chuckled, releasing her and pulling his wand free. “I don’t know how much you know about the Marauders, Miss Granger. But if there’s something hidden behind a ward, we generally try to get through it. _Now, boys!”_

James and Sirius fell back, the former staggering and falling on his bum while the latter crashed to his knees. 

“ _Bombarda!_ ” A violent jet of magic burst from Remus’ wand and crashed through the remaining ward, its remnants dusting into the air. As he lowered his wand, she noted that he cradled his wand hand to his chest for the briefest of moments, rotating it before turning his attention to his friends. 

Sirius sat back, dragging his hand through his shaggy hair and breathing heavily, but otherwise appearing to be fine. Waving off their concerned looks, he pointed towards his mate now laying on the dying grass and sucking in desperate gasps of air. 

“Merlin!” Hermione gasped, rushing to James’ side and placing her palm against his chest. His skin was pallid, sweat forming at his hairline as he wheezed. “What’s wrong with him? What do we do? Does he need chocolate?”

“He’ll be all right,” Remus reassured her, falling to one knee next to James with a humourless huff, slapping his shoulder with a loud _thwap._ “Won’t you, Prongs? Nothing we haven’t faced before.” 

“Piss… off, Moony. You never do it.” James’ head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as he curled on his side, rolling towards Hermione. 

“What’s happened to them?” Hermione pressed, pushing his unruly black hair from his temple and pressing her fingers to his clammy skin. 

“They’re just a bit spent; I promise they’ll be all right. But, they will be down for the count for a few, and I’d rather we go on and get the thing and get us all out of here if that’s quite all right.” 

Hermione nodded, turning her gaze to Sirius, who already seemed marginally better, and then back to James who looked on the very brink of death. 

“There is something…” James managed, rolling onto his back and grasping for her wrist. 

Guilt wracked through her. Her blood had stopped her from being able to help, had cost them both their strength. “What do you need?”

“I think a little kiss ought to lift my spirits.” Hermione’s brows tugged together, considering his words carefully, but when his lips twitched into a lopsided smirk and one eye peeled open, she couldn’t help her palm from slapping down onto his broad chest. 

“You’re a prat! You’re completely fine!” Rushing to her feet, she had half a mind to kick him as well, refraining only because of her audience. His laughter chased behind her as she stomped through the brush, Remus quick on her heels. 

Struggling to regain her breath, Hermione stopped just at the edge of the shack, chest rising and falling in sharp huffs. 

“I know it’s hard,” Remus edged, coming to stand beside her. “Try not to let him get to you. He’s one of those blokes who can’t differentiate between good and bad attention—he just wants all of it. And the more you give him, the more he’ll covet it.” 

Some of her rage quieted, and with a defeated sigh, she turned towards him. It was easy to forget that while she knew Remus Lupin rather well, she was—for all intents and purposes—a stranger. “You seem much different than them.”

“Ah, they mean well. I take it they’ve changed a lot? If James isn’t still pushing witch’s buttons in twenty years, something drastic must have happened.” Pausing he poked his wand at some hanging ivy, then once at the crumbling structure itself. She hummed, a small noncommittal response as she did the same. There were some secrets she’d rather hold onto a little while longer. 

_“Revelum Caligo,”_ she cast again, wand sweeping the area for further enchantments and finding none. “I think we’re safe to enter.” 

The shack itself was rather dilapidated, the floorboards worn and knotted, the overwhelming scent of damp wood hanging in the air. A heaviness shrouded them, tangibly different than when the ward was in place, but enough to stiffen the fine hairs of her arms. 

They ambled around the shack, eyeing the upturned furniture and decaying walls with pinched expressions. A thought dawned on Hermione, and she turned to her companion. “Why did the ward recognize only pure-blood sacrifices? That seems... backwards?”

Remus craned his neck down the hall before deeming the area safe and dropping his wand arm. “It works _best_ with pure-blood. Those old codgers liked to put blood wards up.” He paused, squirming a little as he considered the rest. “They sealed them with Muggle or creature blood, the sacrifice warding the area and guarding it against what they deemed ‘lesser blood’. So, in order to enter, some trace of pure bloodlines must be present. I’m half, so I _could_ have, and I have before—but it requires more. And as you can see, it already requires a great deal.” He spoke so plainly, completely unaffected, that it bewildered Hermione.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“That I can’t drain my magical core and offer up a pint of blood?” He snorted, his lips quirking up in a smile. “No. It surely doesn’t. And someone has to be there to blast the damn thing open once it’s weakened; I’m happy to oblige.” 

“Oh.” Cataloguing the information, she withdrew the journal and flipped it to the page with scrawled notes about Marvolo Gaunt’s cursed ring. A tight swirl with a large flourish was etched into the page, and she moved through the wand motion that she’d already practised a hundred times. Fortifying herself with a harsh exhale, she tucked the journal away again and cast her wand at the floor. “ _Malum vestigum.”_

Her wrist faltered at the sheer amount of magic flowing through her arm and into her wand, and she choked on a breath as she swept the room. 

“Hermione?” Remus rushed towards her, pausing only as he noticed the floor light up with intricate swirls of violet, tendrils of magic that still lingered. “What is this?”

“Dark magic,” she managed through a tight jaw, wincing as she curled her arm to the side and a small flare of light rose into the air over a thatch of worn floorboards, “leaves traces.” 

Her arm fell useless at her side and she gasped, her wand clattering to the floor. Remus moved quickly, flicking his wrist at the space that her spell had illuminated, lifting the boards from their resting place and sending them crashing against the far wall. A harsh gust of air flew through a small opening in his lips as he shook his head at whatever lay below. He faltered, swallowing hard. 

The tingle of magic returned to her arm, and she rotated it in a wide circle before picking up her wand and stowing it in the waistband of her denims. “It’s a Horcrux. A fraction of You-Know-Who’s soul embedded deep within.” 

Nestled in the floorboards was a small brass jewellry box, richly engraved with a coiled snake around a thicket of roses and thorn. With trembling hands, she lifted it from its home and cracked its hinges open. Her breath nearly left her at the thick wave of dark magic that billowed from its confines. Resting haphazardly inside was a crudely forged golden ring, a black stone resting in its crooked brackets.

Remus reached for it, and she quickly thrust her own arm in the way. “ _Don’t_ —this almost killed Dumbledore when he put it on. We shouldn’t risk it.” Instead, she turned the jewellry box itself, inspecting the ring closer as her gaze caught on a symbol hidden in the ebony facets. “Do you see this?”

Leaning in with a studious stare, he nodded and hummed absently. “Interesting. It’s like—” He lifted his wand, muttering a spell and then tracing it in the air. A golden symbol floated before them, a triangle separated by a single line, a circle lying inside. “Strange... Never seen it before.” 

The blood drained from her face as she gazed down at the innocuous piece of jewellry again. “I have.” 

xXx

**A/N: I have the best most lovely friends working on this story with me and because they are so quick in getting chapters edited, I can for now up my schedule! I’m hoping to update every 5-7 days instead of the weekly update. Biggest of thanks to my alpha’s MCal and Ravenslight (who just completed Queen of Swords which is a Voldy-wins AU that is an EPIC. Run to read it!) and my beta NuclearNik. You guys are my queens and I don’t deserve you.**

**Hope you enjoyed this update! Of all the Horcruxes to find in 1979, this was the easiest. Dumbledore already knew how to get there… you’ll find the rest are tucked in really inconvenient places for our team to get to. This story is going to be a long one! I’m currently writing Chapter 19 and have at least 50 plotted.**

**I would love to know your thoughts! Thank you for reading. I try to respond to reviews on AO3 but know I read and adore each and every one! If you want to chat about 1979 or anything really, find me on Tumblr--same pen name. You can also find all my fancasts, covers, and aesthetics by searching my Tumblr for 1979.**

**Hope you’re all safe and healthy in these chaotic times. Sending my love to you and yours.**

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

October 1979

Longbottom Hall, Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix

Arriving on the lawn of Longbottom Hall, James fell away from her side, his knees and palms crashing into the wet grass. 

“Merlin!” Hermione crouched, inspecting the man who’d just Apparated her clear across London. “Your magic is exhausted. You need more rest.” The admonishment slid from the corner of her downturned lips as he forced a smile on his face. 

“I’m fine, love. Just gonna enjoy the fresh air a minute, yeah? Get that thing to Molly; she’ll know what to do with it.” Hermione stayed, worrying her lip as she stared at the ashen wizard still boasting confidence. “Really.” Something close to sincerity flashed in his eyes, the façade of his overinflated ego waning. “G’on. We’ll get you back to the girl’s flat after and all will be well.” 

Still, she remained rooted to her spot, staring at the deep lines etched into his forehead as he regarded her. Finally, when his features began to wither and she suspected he might try to reprimand her again, she relented.“Okay. Don’t move, all right? Just wait for me; I’ll be right back.” 

“I’m not going anywhere. Haven’t you figured that out yet, love? I’ll wait for you forever.” He winked, his voice faltering at the end, and while she should still be annoyed by his relentless charm, she found it exhausting to remain in such a state. Rolling her eyes, she rose to stand and made her way across the back lawn. 

The kitchen was mostly quiet, the soft hum of a record playing somewhere deeper inside the house. At the sink with her back turned was a ruby-haired witch, her wand sticking precariously from the messy knot secured at the crown of her head. She started singing along to the record, her voice low and familiar.

“Molly?”

For a moment, everything seemed to still, even the thrashing of her heart. The witch turned from the sink, her brows pulled tight, and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She was different, of course, but these twenty years did little change to the look in her eyes, forever fringed with a hint of worry. 

“Oh,” Molly said, her features relaxing slightly as she began wringing her hands on a tea towel. “It’s you. Dumbledore said we’d be expecting you.” Her voice held little amusement or even friendliness, for that matter. Instead, the older witch eyed her sceptically. 

Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes and before she could think better of it, she was bounding across the kitchen, capturing Molly in a tight hug. After these last few days, a familiar face was beyond needed and even though Molly’s hands stayed hanging at her sides, not yet embracing her, Hermione did not relent. In fact, she held on tighter, muttering incoherent apologies until finally, the Weasley matriarch’s arms folded her in a hug. After a few awkward pats, Molly, extricated herself from Hermione’s embrace, a wry smile finally present on her thin lips. 

She was pretty; more than, really. Clear blue eyes and pale skin the colour of cream, and under the floral fabric of her dress, Hermione could see the slight swell of her pregnant belly. Quicker than even Hermione thought possible, she did the math, counting up how many boys might already be born by 1979, and a grin worked its way onto her disbelieving features. _It was Ron._

“Are you all right, dear? You look a bit peckish, maybe you ought to eat.” It seemed that even twenty years prior, nothing could quell Molly’s need to feed the masses.

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t know me…” Hermione confessed, wiping her damp cheeks with her fingertips as she begrudgingly stepped back. “But I know you, and it’s really very good to see you.” 

And it well and truly was. It was no secret whatsoever that Molly Weasley had put Hermione through the wringer throughout her friendship and potential budding relationship with Ron, but in her heart of hearts, she knew Molly. Her ire was only overshadowed by her love, and luckily for everyone, she had that in spades. 

“Well,” Molly said with a burgeoning smile, “It’s nice to meet you, anyway. Where’re the rest of them? I heard you had a mission this morning.” 

“Yes.” Hermione’s senses returned and she banished the remaining tears streaking down her cheeks. “Well, Remus and Sirius headed back to their flat and James brought me here.” 

_“And?”_ Molly’s palm lifted as she eyed the otherwise empty kitchen.”Where is he?”

“James and Sirius had to break down a ward; it took a lot of out of them. Then with the Apparition… I’m afraid he’s a bit weak. I’m not sure how he’s intending to get home.” 

Molly rested her hands on her hips and rounded Hermoine to look out onto the lawn. “Oh, that boy! Such a showoff he is. Why didn’t Remus bring you back?” Clucking her tongue, she didn’t wait for an answer, instead marching to the back door. _“JAMES!_ Get your arse up and inside this house! You’re not going back in this condition!” 

A loud groan filtered in from outside, and James rolled to his side; the man was nothing if not insufferable. Molly stepped away, letting the door slam shut in her wake as she returned to the sink. 

  
  
  


Turning just barely over her shoulder, Molly hummed to herself before shaking her head.. Don’t worry about James Potter; we’ll get some food and Pepperup in him and he’ll be right as rain in no time. How was the mission?”

“Successful,” Hermione said, rifling through her bag. “James said you’d know where to put this.” Pulling the jewellry box free, Hermione could feel the intrinsic pull of it. The magic that surrounded and protected it billowed into the air and even Molly sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I sure do. Give it here and I’ll get it somewhere safe until Dumbledore knows what to do about it. I assume you’ve some way of destroying the blasted thing?” 

A grimace twisted Hermione’s features. “Theoretically? Yes. I just don’t _have_ them.”

Molly huffed. “Merlin help us all.” 

A ruckus on the back porch followed by stomping feet and raucous laughter floated through the air. With a wild jerk, Tthe door was wrenched open and two tiny red-headed children—one taller and thin, the other thicker and with long, wild hair—rushed through the kitchen in a blur and were quickly out of sight. 

“Boys! Keep your voice down and _take off your shoes!_ For crying out loud, you’d think they were raised in a bloody barn.” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at the horrible irony of Molly screeching at others to keep quiet. A moment later the door again opened, this time accompanied by far less noise. James hobbled in tucked into the side of a younger—and quite dashing—Arthur Weasley. 

“Found this one out on the grass complaining he was dying, Mols.” Upon catching sight of Hermione, Arthur straightened, a friendly smile pulling on his cheeks. “Hello, there!” 

Wiggling her fingers through the air, Hermione felt all at once grounded by the ridiculousness of the situation. Arthur helped seat James at the table, who seemed to be looking even worse off than before. 

In a flash, Molly was all business, stomping across the kitchen and shooing Arthur’s hands as she poked and prodded at the wilting Marauder. “What was it this time, huh? Another pack of werewolves?”

A ghost of a laugh burst past James’ lips, and he slouched in his seat. “Just a little old blood ward; nothing we can’t handle.” 

Slamming the jewellry box on the table between them, Molly took his sharp jaw between her hands and turned his head back and forth before setting him free and turning for the stove. “Supper will be ready in about fifteen. Alastor is coming round and— _James! Don’t give me that look_ —he has something that simply can’t wait until the next meeting, apparently. Let your lot know, alright?” 

Snorting, James nodded and pulled his wand free but Hermione was quicker, her hand darting out to wrap around his forearm. 

“Don’t!” Three sets of eyes rounded and settled on her. The heat of a blush crawled up her neck. “Your magical core is spent. I’m surprised the Apparition didn’t cause you to faint.” 

The golden burst in his eyes danced to life and he smirked as he held his arm out for her, yanking the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal the phoenix branded on the inside of his bicep. “Care to do the honours, love?”

Reeling in all her self righteous horror, Molly’s jaw fell open. _“James Fleamont Potter!_ Do not scare her off with your cheeky little bullsh—”

A laugh that felt wholly unfamiliar jumped from Hermione’s belly, and she grabbed her own wand, shoving the tip in his arm. “It’s okay, Molly. He doesn’t scare me one bit. _Resurgemus_.” 

As her magic slipped through her wand and into his tattoo, she felt her own come to life, tingling on her shoulder blade in an insistent call. She squirmed, the spell itching uncomfortably against her skin. The weight of James’ stare burned into the side of her face and against her own volition, her gaze flickered down to his. 

She’d expected to see a smug smirk, maybe a flirtatious wink, but she found him completely relaxed, his eyes intent on hers. After a hard swallow, she blinked away from his attention and dropped her wand away. “That ought to be enough, yeah?” 

“Yeah, they’ll come.” As he spoke, Hermione’s fingertips travelled the collar of her shirt and tucked inside, tracing the raised skin of her tattoo as the magic of the mark coursed under her skin. 

In the front room, a loud crash alerted both Molly and Arthur to trouble, and all four occupants of the kitchen jumped. With matching sighs, the parents of the plausible problem left the room in search of their boys. 

Falling into the seat next to James, Hermione couldn’t help but soften a bit as she watched him pick at the peel of an orange with his thumbnail. “You should have told me you were still so weak—”

“Hah!” James stilled, and she swore she saw the apples of his cheeks darken. “Weak? Not bloody likely. Got you here all right, didn’t I?”

“Are you always like this? You’re always so…” Her nose wrinkled. _“So much_. Don’t you ever just relax a bit and stop with this whole cocky charade.” 

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, he freed a single slice of his orange and ran his finger along its flesh before popping it between his teeth and grinning at her. “You’ll have to find out.” He shrugged noncommittally before continuing. “Maybe I just like you. Ever heard of flirting?”

It was her turn to laugh, and she settled back in her seat as she eyed him. “If this is you flirting, you’re rubbish at it. Besides, you have a girlfriend.” 

_“No,_ I don’t.” 

“Does Lily Evans often emerge from your room without trousers and in one of your shirts?” There was a twist of strange envy in her belly and she quickly banished it by squirming in her seat. “Besides, it doesn’t matter! I don’t care if you have a girlfriend. I’m here for one reason—a very important reason. This mission is the only thing that matters.” 

He pushed another slice of orange between his full lips and Hermione caught herself staring at the innocent little action with a blush blossoming along her cheekbones. Laughter rumbled from deep in his chest and he freed another wedge, handing it to her. For some unknown reason, she took it and traced the rippled texture with her forefinger. 

“Lily and I fooled around for a bit in Seventh Year.” The normal bravado in his voice was gone, now replaced with a strange candour. “I’d had the wildest crush on her and somewhere around Halloween of our last year, she softened to my advances. Dated for a few weeks but nothing serious; we’re too different.” 

“But you still…” Turning scarlet, she finally ate the fruit in her fingers just for something to do. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she was asking—why she cared. Maybe just because he was such a ridiculous flirt that it annoyed her to no end that he would be sleeping with his future wife and Harry’s mum all while looking for new prospects on the side. 

He shrugged, and she noticed for the first time that some of his colour had returned to his cheeks. “Sometimes. There’s not much time for dating with everything the Order has us doing; not that I’d want to if there _was_ time. Lily and I—” He dragged a hand over his face, and for the first time, she noticed that James Potter was uncomfortable. “Sometimes we find a little cure for the loneliness. No harm in that.” 

_Oh._ “Not at all, if you’re into such things. Which I am _not._ Well, it’s not that I’d be adverse; I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. It’s just that the only two people I _could_ have had warm my bed are not exactly—well, let’s just say that it’s not…” Her features crumpled as a fevered blush stained every inch of her skin. “There’s nothing wrong with them or anything! I just couldn’t… _you know,_ and besides, I’ve never even—” Before she could speak the next damning words, she slammed her jaw shut and splayed her hand over her mouth. 

At this, James all out laughed, rocking forward and resting his forearms on the table. “Understood, Hermione. You aren’t into casual sex. Information received.” 

Pursing her lips into a tight, horrified grimace, she withered in her seat, ready to melt through the floorboards if there was a God present in any way, shape, or form. 

Outside, several pops of Apparition sounded and thankfully stole James’ attention. Merlin, she’d been blathering on and on about the reasons she hadn’t been having casual sex with the bloke’s son. In her complete and utter horror, she buried her face in her hands as the door swung open. 

It was Peter first, eyeing them closely, then Remus and Sirius—the latter of which was looking remarkably better as well. Marlene and Lily were short after and one by one they took their seats at the table. 

Dragging a hand through his hair, Peter grumbled and groaned, his gaze shifting wildly around the room. “Any idea what this is all about? I thought we had the bloody night off.” 

Sirius snorted and shoved Peter hard in the shoulder. _“You_ had the morning off, you knob. The rest of us were bleeding out in some piece of shite village in northern England while you—what were you doing anyway?”

Peter’s jaw clenched and he ticked his chin to the side, cracking his neck. “None of your bloody business.” 

A wild grin broke out on Sirius features, and he started poking his friend in the face and crooning. “You’re so sensitive, Petey! What? Have a girlfriend? _Boyfriend?”_

“Sirius…” Remus warned. 

“What! Wouldn’t be the first time we guessed as such. If he didn’t have such a hard on for Marley, I’d be sure of it!” Sirius rocked with laughter but the rest of the room cringed. 

“Fuck off!” Peter pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping harshly against the floor, and he marched down the hall even as his friends called for him to come back. 

“Do you _have_ to pick on him so much?” Lily admonished, sweeping her hair off her shoulders and eyeing the guffawing Marauder with a glower. “You know he doesn’t like it. Hell, _I_ don’t bloody like it.” 

“Yeah? Well, that’s life, Lils. If you don’t like it, you can piss—” 

“Merlin, Padfoot,” Remus interrupted, slapping his friend’s chest with the back of his hand. “You make us look like a bunch of fucking brutes and then you talk to a witch like that. Act like you were raised with an ounce of fucking decorum.” 

A strange tension settled around the room and Sirius’ eyes narrowed into tight slits, his lip curling. “Like you? Tell me, when they did they teach you manners, Moony? Was it before or after they had to chain you up in the cellar?” 

It was unclear who moved first, but they were both shoving back their chairs and jumping to their feet. Shrinking in her seat, Hermione watched the scene unfold in front of her, both Remus and Sirius now toe-to-toe, spitting terrible insults back at each other.

Marlene was next, her slender arms wrapping tight around Sirius’ trim waist and tugging him back. Lily and James joined too; Lily inserting herself in front of Remus and garnering his attention as James rushed to slide between it all. 

When the moment had somewhat quieted, Lily’s hands now on Remus’ face as she spoke in low reassuring words, James reeled on Sirius, who seemed to be the constant offender. “The fuck is wrong with you, mate? You’re in some kinda mood, and you’re acting like a fucking twat.” 

Sirius choked out a disbelieving laugh as he shook off his girlfriend. “You too, Prongs? Fucking perfect.” Growling, he pushed past James, checking Remus hard in the shoulder on his way out. “I need a smoke.” 

In a moment, he was gone and Hermione found herself staring at those in front of her like an intruder. They had so much history between them, things she would never know and surely never understand. 

James carded a hand through his unruly hair and turned to eye his friend out the back window. “The fuck is his problem? I saw him an hour ago and he wasn’t being any bigger of a prick than he usually is.”

Marlene joined James, her hands coming up to rest on her own cheeks. “It’s Reggie,” she said in a hushed whisper, so low Hermione could barely hear. “Gideon told us he saw Reg down in Knockturn.” 

“Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“It does,” Marlene said with a sharp cut to her words. “You know it’s only ever been a matter of time with how fucking Walburga’s been in Reg’s ear. Sirius still had hope, I think, but he was with Malfoy and Nott. Doesn’t look good.” 

_“Fuck!”_ James snapped and Hermione jumped, her heart thrashing at his sudden outburst. He didn’t say another word, instead following Sirius outside and leaving the few remaining with an uncomfortable silence permeating between them. 

Remus tucked his chin and sighed, gently guiding Lily away. As her slender hands fell to her sides, crimson flared to life on her fair cheeks.Lily cleared her throat and muttered something about dinner, Marlene following as they both set to work deeper in the kitchen. 

After a long, awkward moment, Remus turned to Hermione with a tight smile. “Sorry about that.” 

“Oh.” Hermione blinked, words failing her. “It’s okay. I mean, my friends and I are like that too… I think it’s because we’ve become more like family at this point. You always say the worst things to the ones you love. They’re the ones that always forgive you.” 

A sad sort of smile tugged at the corner of Remus’ lips and he nodded. “Better go check on Peter before he does something stupid out of spite.” 

Feeling completely useless and out of place, Hermione fell back into her seat, ignoring the sniffles coming from Lily near the stove and Marlene’s quiet reassurance that it would all be okay. Even with all the turmoil of the Marauders, Hermione couldn’t help but feel terribly homesick. 

xXx

**A/N: Hello lovelies! The world is crazy and I hope you’re all finding this note because you’re safe and healthy! Thank you so very much for reading. I know I’m trash at responding to reviews but I read and cherish every single one.**

**If you want to see my Molly & Arthur fancasts head over to my tumblr and search my page for 1979! **

**Thanks to my lovely Alpha/Beta team, MCal, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik are my gems!**

**I’ll see you next week for another update! We’ll meet a whole slew of Order Members and a couple of wild Weasleys!**

**Be safe!**


	5. Chapter 5

October 1979

Longbottom Hall

Hermione remained rooted to her seat as the Marauders split forces: James and Sirius outside and Remus and Peter somewhere deeper in the house. Unfortunately, she still didn’t know the two girls all that well and in the absence of the few she _did_ know, she felt completely and utterly alone. 

Absently, she picked up a discarded peel of an orange and dragged it between her fingers again and again, letting Lily and Marley’s conversation fall into ambient noise. Huffing to herself, she concluded that this entire group of people was dangerous— _distracting._

Hermione couldn’t afford distraction. Things needed to happen, a hundred moving pieces that weighed heavily on her shoulders alone. 

Over the last few months, she’d considered her plan a hundred times over. Countless nights she’d watched as the night bled into sunrise and _still_ she wasn’t confident. Furthermore, she felt utterly alone in its planning and even more in the execution. There were things these people just _couldn’t_ know—at least not yet, not until the right moment. 

Everything would come down to Halloween 1981; that had to be the night that changed everything. 

The door opened, tearing Hermione from her thoughts as she blinked around the late afternoon sun filtering in. James and Sirius came in, the tension seeming to have quieted around Sirius as he again took a seat at the table. James folded his lips into a sad sort of smile, and as he walked past Hermione, he laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed once before moving on. It was the simplest gesture, gentle and reassuring, and it made her heart leap in her chest. 

Swallowing hard, she shifted in her seat and dropped the orange peel back on the table. 

“Sorry for the outburst,” Sirius mumbled, running his hand through his long black hair. There was something about the way he squirmed when he spoke that gave Hermione the impression that an apology was rare was from Sirius Black. 

From the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of James with Lily and Marlene, the latter two still working at the kitchen counter. She realized with a start that she was being rather rude and turned to offer to help but her eyes caught on James’ hand resting on the small of Lily’s back. Bristling, Hermione jumped to her feet. 

A chuckle rumbled from across the table and from under an arched brow Sirius peered up at her, sporting a smug smirk. “Wouldn’t worry about that, kitten. I think he’s sweet on you.” 

For a splinter of a moment, Hermione gaped at the presumptuous little git before remembering herself and turning for the hall. With nowhere at all to go, she worked her way deeper into the home. 

Molly came stomping from a side room, wiping her hands on the skirt of her dress and rolling her eyes upon seeing Hermione. “Those boys, I swear! They’re set to give me a bleeding heart attack before it’s all said and done. This one,” she paused to point at the gentle curve of her belly, eyeing it severely, “had better be a girl or I’m going to lose it. _Five_ boys!” 

Hermione chuckled, knowing full well that come this March, Molly Weasley would be ecstatic to welcome little Ronald Bilius to the family, maybe if not after a short bout of disappointment that she’d have to endure another pregnancy before she got her girl. 

Molly seemed to sag, exhaustion evident in every inch of her. “You say you know me? Tell me I have a daughter before it’s all said and done, yeah?” 

Features pinching hard to one side, Hermione took a few short steps forward and wrapped her hands lovingly around Molly’s elbow. Surely, it couldn’t do any harm to share this _little_ bit. “You have a daughter and she’s lovely; although, I’m not sure she gives you any relief at all. She’s a firecracker.” 

A genuine grin worked its way onto Molly’s face, tears lining her lashes. Straightening her spine, the witch seemed to have a stronger resolve and nodded once at Hermione. “Sounds about right.” She winked and had a private laugh as she cradled her swollen belly in her hands. “Thank you, dear. Hungry? It’ll take me just a minute to finish up and the meeting will start right after.” 

“Yes, but I was wondering if you were able to hide the—“ 

Molly waved her off with a dismissive hand. “It’s handled. We’ll make sure it stays hidden. This place is impenetrable, I tell you.” The strangest shiver skittered along Hermione’s skin, and with a quick pat on her shoulder, Molly reassured her. “If you need to freshen up, the loo is just down and to the left, and feel free to yell at my two eldest if they are being rowdy. I’ll see you in there.” Molly jerked her head towards the kitchen and at that, she was gone, disappearing down the hall with a hand bracing her lower back. 

Shaking her head, Hermione couldn’t help but smile. What a strange day this was turning out to be. She didn’t really need the loo, but she was utterly curious about Longbottom Hall. It was so different than Grimmauld; as if this war itself were a lighter and more hopeful place. She supposed it was, still untainted by insurmountable loss and devastation. 

Just then, Bill and Charlie crashed from the same side room that Molly had just emerged from. She recognised them each immediately, and Bill seemed to be hugging his brother from behind—but, no, that couldn’t be right—his arm was wrapped around Charlie’s neck, his free hand assisting in crushing his younger brother’s windpipe as Charlie threw wild elbows back into his brother’s ribs. 

“Merlin!” With a wild shriek, Hermione rushed to their side, batting at Bill’s hands until they both relented and fell away panting. “Are you two serious? You’re going to kill each other!” 

“Not likely.” Charlie grinned, his eyes crinkling with that telltale mischief he carried even now. “More like I’m gonna kill him.” Shoving his older brother hard in the chest, he turned for the kitchen. But Bill’s face was still flushed scarlet and with a growl he set upon his brother again, leaping on his back with a wild yell, and Hermione cried out as Arthur stumbled through the front door. 

Rushing to grab each of them by their collars, Arthur wrenched them apart and turned to Hermione with an apologetic yet overly friendly smile. “Sorry, Miss! I swear these two are better suited for the wild than polite company.” 

Swallowing a laugh, Hermione nodded. If he only knew about the dragon tamer and werewolf attack survivor in his hands right now. “Quite alright.” 

Dragging the two boys alongside him, Arthur made for the back room where it sounded as though new voices had joined. Not quite ready to rejoin them, Hermione pressed onward. The room the Weasleys had exited from was nothing more than a cosy sitting room, adorned with plush, oversized furniture and an upright piano in the corner. Over the large fireplace, which Hermione logically presumed to be a Floo, was a portrait of a grey-haired man with a round belly dozing with his mouth open and his eyeglasses resting on his chest. 

Moving further still, she found a few closed doors which she didn’t bother with, and then, just before the grand staircase in the foyer, a set of double doors called to her. They were thankfully open, and when she was far enough to see inside, her breath caught in her throat. 

It was a sprawling library, filled with golden light from the impending setting sun. The shelves reached towards the vaulted ceilings, boasting more spines than Hermione had ever seen in a private library. There was another Floo built into a quarter wall that began several feet from the wall of windows at its back. Surrounding its hearth were delicate French furnishings with claw feet, a sofa and two armchairs with pale blue upholstery, and tufted ivory pillows tucked into its corners. 

With a reverence that Hermione reserved for occasions only as special as these, she splayed a palm over her heart and began with the closest stacks to her right, letting her fingers trail along the pale wood as she grazed. How on earth anyone in this house got anything done, she couldn’t be sure. 

A secret smile playing across her lips, Hermione allowed her mind to wander. Had Neville grown up here? Had he sprinted up those wrought iron stairs to the second landing just to be chastised by his Gran? She assumed that was not the case; something about Neville urged her to believe he’d be curled up with a book in the corner instead of causing any kind of ruckus. But then the thought of her friend edged sharply into her heart like a splinter, barely there but painful as hell. 

Shaking her curls free from her shoulders, she scattered the ghosts haunting her mind and eyed a particularly appealing nook hidden behind the fireplace. When she rounded the corner, she sucked in a hard gasp, although the boy that was occupying the space didn’t flinch.

It was Peter. He was sitting on the floor with his head hanging rather than in the armchairs, and when he didn’t move at first, she wasn’t sure if she ought to say something or slowly retreat back into safer territory. After a long, fraught moment where Hermione remained gaping at the boy with shaggy golden hair, he finally loosened a long-suffering sigh. 

“Well, you found me,” he snorted, only then looking up and seeming to be just as alarmed at the sight of Hermione as she had been when she’d found him. The apples of his cheeks darkened, and he rushed to his feet, wiping his palms on his denims before offering one to her in a friendly handshake. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were—well, I thought you were someone else. It’s Hermione, right?”

Her gaze was stuck on his depthless dark eyes; they couldn’t be pitch black, but they were the deepest shade of brown she could recall. The awkwardness was near palpable as he grimaced and moved to retract his hand. 

“Oh!” She blinked hard twice and thrust her hand between them. “Yes, it’s… um, it’s nice to see you again. Peter?”

For exactly two pumps of their joined hands, she swore she could taste the bile reaching up her throat. Finally, it ended and she folded her hands together in front of her as she smiled tightly back at him. 

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier,” he rushed, his hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck as he squinted through one eye at her. He was meek, she realized, and despite her best intentions to remain obstinately opposed to all things Peter Pettigrew, she softened infinitesimally. “Something crawled up Sirius’ arse and died apparently. He’s intent to make us all mourn with him.”

A surprising laugh pushed past her lips and she quickly quieted it as she turned for the window. “That’s okay. I think all four of you have apologized now, and I promise I’m not so fragile. I’m Gryffindor, you know, completely used to volatile wizards.” 

“Ah, so you already know.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he joined her to look out at the sprawling front lawns of the Longbottom estate. 

“I _am_ sorry though,” she said sincerely, surprising even herself. “That must be hard. Sirius has a big personality.” 

Tucking his chin, Peter nodded once. “We all have our strengths. He’s a git at the best of times but he’s a good bloke.” A genuine laugh broke through his previously quiet demeanour, and Hermione’s face snapped towards his, studying him. “The trouble those two got Remus and me into, I swear… But you know, those first few years, I’ll admit to being shoved in a fair share of broom cupboards. Got bloodied up good a time or two, as well. But once Sirius thought of me as kin, I was. He’d hex the snot out of anyone who tried to so much as rile me up. Sirius was the first one to let me in. Even when he’s an arse he’s my brother, first.” 

Hermione’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as she listened to the first rational words from Peter Pettigrew. There was no doubt he was genuine, and his brow puckered as he lost himself in the memories of years past. 

It was odd. In Sirius and Remus, she could see glimpses of their future selves even now; they were still _them,_ if not a bit hardened by life. 

But the Peter she’d met her third year was certifiably mad, twisted to hell and back with dark magic and guilt and life as a bleeding rat. How on earth did that man grow from this boy?

He snorted, rolling his eyes at himself, and turned back towards her. “Don’t mind me, Miss. Trying to make sense of his bullshite helps me rationalize why I stay around this hell hole. Somedays I’m sure I’m going to run away and never look back.” 

Words failed her, each one dying on her tongue as she stared back at him, desperately trying to process the moment. “I hope you don’t,” was all she could manage, and his lips bent in a friendly smile as he gestured with an open palm for them to leave. 

“I won’t,” he said simply, leading her from the quiet corner of the library. “Where else would I go?”

xXx

Hermione followed Peter into the kitchen, eyeing the full room. Back by the stove, she spied the rest of the Marauders, James brow wrinkling as he spotted them together. Weaving through the people gathered, she found a spot near the back by Marley and Sirius. She couldn’t help smile as Sirius threw an elbow around Peter’s neck and hugged him tight to his side, whispering something meant only for him. 

A smile broke out on Peter’s face and he shoved his friend off laughing before settling between him and Remus. 

Marlene leaned over, popping a bright pink bubble between her teeth before sucking her gum back between her molars. “You okay, doll? These boys get so rowdy.” 

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded. “Just went for a walk.” 

Smacking her gum, Marley eyed her, fighting a smile. “Do you have plans tonight?” 

“Me?” Hermione gaped, eyes bulging. 

“Yeah, you.” Turning to Lily, Marley nodded once and stole her friend’s attention. “Lils! Girls night after this bullshite. Aye?”

Whining, Sirius muttered something unintelligible about it not being fair but Marlene quickly shushed him by placing a hand over his mouth. Lily laughed, the sound a delicate tinkling, and nodded. 

Then, the room quieted, and for the first time in a very long time, Hermione set eyes on Alastor Moody. Of their own volition, her hands drew back to clutch at the countertop pressed against her back. He was younger, obviously, but still quite the same. He had two working eyes, a long full beard and his hair was less wiry and wild, tied back at the nape of his neck. 

_“Quiet!”_ Moody bellowed, slamming his cane into the wood floor and garnering the silence he demanded. Even James shifted where he stood. “I’m here with news from Dumbledore as well as the Ministry. I’ll start the with the shite news first and then move onto the really shite news.” 

From the corner of the kitchen, James snorted. “Fucking brilliant.”

“Something to add, Potter?” Moody shouted, his eyes narrowing at the same moment his lip curled. When James didn’t immediately respond, he continued. “Good, keep that smart-arse mouth shut. Now, for the shite news—the disappearances of Muggles have been escalating, as you well know. But You-Know-Who’s cronies are getting sloppy. They’ve been leaving witnesses— _Muggle_ witnesses.” 

Hermione shifted in her seat, her mind reaching into the recesses of her mind for more information on where _exactly_ in time she’d been placed as it related to the rise and fall of Tom Riddle. From what she remembered, things escalated quickly after the summer of 1980, which was precisely why she’d been dropped in the fall of 1979; it allotted her more freedom to move about before the war front was brought to the streets of Wizarding London. 

“We’ve been doing what we can,” Alastor continued, “but the Ministry and D.M.L.E.’s resources are stretched thin. Alice?” 

Near the front of the room, Alice Longbottom stood, tucking her short hair behind her ear as she turned to the group at large. “It’s true. We’re working beyond what is considered healthy and mistakes are being made. We need help— _desperately_.” 

Near the wall beyond the icebox stood two ginger-haired twins—Gideon and Fabian Prewett, if Hermione wasn’t mistaken. One had wavy hair that kissed his chin, the other with his cropped short. It was the former who spoke up. “What is it you need?” 

“Volunteers, mostly,” Alice replied, her shoulders sagging. “People to take shifts. You’ll be dispatched to handle simple healing spells, memory modification, and the like. It’ll be mostly night duty, that will give the Aurors and the rest of those on call a bit of a break. If you’re able, speak with Frank or me after… and thank you.” With a shy smile, she took her seat, Frank’s arm coming up to rest around her shoulder as he tugged her to his side and kissed her temple. 

“And what if we come head to head with Death Eaters? Has the Ministry been able to do anything about the use of dark magic in cases of duress?” The woman who spoke had beautifully wild, natural hair and deep, rich-toned skin. Hermione remembered her from the photo of the original Order; she’d stood in the back, unsmiling. 

The room looked to Moody, waiting with bated breath. His lips melted into a deep-set frown, and he shook his head. “Still no change, Meadowes. There will be no pardon given for the use of Unforgivable curses in combat.” 

The room erupted, the Prewett brothers leading the charge as they shouted and threw their hands in the air. 

_“It’s rubbish!”_

_“It’s a fucking death sentence!”_

_“Take our wands, why don’t you!”_

Hermione’s eyes grew wide as she slunk back into the shadows. The last meeting she’d attended had been far different than this.

_“Quiet!_ As of now, there is no change. Every spell you cast holds the possibility of serious repercussions and you may need to defend those actions in the Wizengamot, the same as it’s always been. And now,” Moody grumbled, his eyes narrowing on the crowd as their cries dulled to a quiet grumbling, “for the _really_ shite news. Dumbledore’s informant has relayed that the Death Eaters have addresses and known locations for some of the Order. He’s working on getting that information to us, but it’s slow coming. Bolster your wards; close your Floos to public access. If you’re able, move to the safe houses or headquarters, _do so._ There are more moving pieces than we could possibly debrief you all on, so when applicable, we shall. McKinnon! Evans!” 

Both girls straightened upon hearing their names, and they shared a quick look before Moody continued. “You’ve been working on preparing the safe houses. What’s their status?”

Lily took a small step forward, sweeping her long red hair back before tilting her chin higher. “We’re close. There are a few set up around London that have been prepared for some time and we are finishing wards on the properties outside Surrey and Canterbury, another up in the village next to Hogsmeade—should we need it.”

“Alright,” Moody grumbled to himself, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “You two keep up on that. The Order is working on securing more properties, and we’ll need those outfitted and warded if things keep progressing as they are. Those safe houses will be available to any and all of you; that includes your families as well. Hopefully, we won’t need them but in case of emergency, at least you lot will have somewhere to go. As for the rest of you—” He paused, seeming to sink in on himself as he mulled over the following words. “Until then, constant vigilance. Trust no one except those in this bloody room and stay safe. The powers-at-be seem to think things will be escalating. We’ll reconvene in a fortnight.” 

As quick as he’d descended, he’d left, sweeping from the room with his long leather robes flying behind him. Hermione turned to Marlene, still casually smacking her gum as she toyed with Sirius’ fingers. “Is it only Moody who comes for these meetings?”

With a wrinkle to her slender nose, the blonde witch shook her head. “No, no. Dumbledore rarely comes. With Hogwarts and the Wizengamot and I.C.W., he doesn’t have a lot of time to spare. Usually, it’s Alastor or Kings; Frank runs them sometimes.”

“I.C.W.?” Hermione asked. 

“International Confederation of Wizards; Dumbles is the Supreme Mugwump.” Marley chomped on her bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Will forever be my favourite title.”

Hermione hummed, eyes drifting around the room. Everyone seemed mostly at ease, even with the news that Death Eaters might have their addresses. At this point, none of them had been well and truly attacked, no torture or brawls in the street. They were still terribly hopeful and it pained Hermione to hold tight to her secrets when she knew what it would mean for so many of them. 

She’d find a way to save them, she reassured herself again and again. There must be a way. 

“Night, babe,” the blonde grinned, leaning into Sirius for a quick kiss. Before Marlene—or Hermione for that matter—could make sense of it, he’d gripped her bum, lifting her so her ankles were locked around his waist. Marley let out a happy squeal as he turned her and set her on the counter behind them, and they began an intimate snog right there in the kitchen of Longbottom Hall. 

Mouth pulling down in a horrifying grimace, Hermione made for the back door. She might splinch herself on the way to the girl’s flat but at least she wouldn’t have to witness their tongues battling for dominance like that. As she wound through the crowd, her gaze trained on the floor, she heard a pair of tongues clucking. The Prewett twins were making some sort of strange sound at her, elbowing each other and cackling with glee. 

Before Hermione could properly reprimand them, Molly arrived, reaching up on her tiptoes to swat both of their heads. “She’s too young for you! Stop whatever it is you’re doing and go home!” Gideon and Fabian, having been properly shamed, dipped their heads and followed their sister’s command. “Sorry about them. Not so often they see pretty girls they haven’t already ruined their chances with. I’m afraid all these wizards may have lost their damn minds.” 

“Oh, come now, Mols.” James’ voice sounded Hermione’s ear, his warm breath fanning over her curls as she jumped in her spot. “You’re giving us a bad rap. I have taken it upon myself to protect Miss Granger from the likes of these smarmy sods. Don’t you worry.” 

Molly’s features flattened and if Hermione wasn’t mistaken, she saw the Weasley witch’s hand twitch, ready to smack him as well. “Are you now calling my brothers smarmy sods, Jamie?” 

“What! No—” 

Hermione ignored whatever it was the twit was about to say and leaned in to brush her lips along Molly’s cheekbone. “Thank you for everything. I’ll see you soon.” Without another word, she pushed through the remaining crowd and out into the crisp October air. 

It’d be November soon, and the chill hanging in the air was a constant reminder of the impending winter. Rubbing her hands together, Hermione crossed the lawn to the wards, ignoring the sound of the back door opening and then quickly clattering shut behind her. 

“Hey! Hermione!” James called, but she refused to acknowledge him. It’d been far too long a day and all she needed now was food and sleep. “GRANGER!”

For some reason, the use of her surname made her groan, and she shot a look over her shoulder. _“What?”_ she spat, far sharper then she’d intended. 

In no time at all, James had jogged up, falling into step by her side. “You’re crabby when you’re hungry.” 

Narrowing her eyes, she turned to glare at him, never slowing her stride. “And why would you presume that?”

“Because you haven’t eaten since breakfast, and you’ve gotten increasingly less friendly as the day wore on.” She felt a shimmer fall over her skin as they passed the Apparition line. His hand darted out, wrapping around her slender wrist. “And I’ll tell you a secret, love—you weren’t all that friendly to start out with.” 

She wanted to slap him, at the very least send him a tiny little jinx, but for some ridiculous reason she was fighting a smile. 

“Don’t worry,” he continued, a grin spreading over his face. “I know _just_ the place.” Just as she noticed the two dimples hidden in his stubble, she felt a nauseating tug in her stomach and found herself hurled across England, tangled with James Potter in a tight swirl of white magic. 

xXx

**A/N: Hey all! Hope this update finds you well! As always you can check out fancasts on my Tumblr, just search for 1979 on my page! Spoiler: Moody is a snack.**

**Big thanks to my lovely team, MCal, Ravenslight, and Nuclear Nik for their love and attention to this story and of course to all you lovely readers! Huge hugs to everyone who took the time to leave a review also. They put such a smile on my face and always get me itching to write more!**

**Thank you for reading and if you have time, I’d love to know what you think!**

**LK**

  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

October 1979

Diagon Alley

Hermione’s feet landed on the crooked cobblestone, and her hands instinctually darted out to settle herself, landing on the muscular forearm of one James Potter. “I’m going to throw up.” 

“Ah, you’ll be alright, love.” 

Absently, she was aware of his hand rubbing small circles across her shoulders and then down her spine, but she couldn’t focus on much else than the world spinning violently around her. When she’d regained at least a sliver of her composure, her eyes snapped open. James’ hand was now resting on the back of her neck, massaging her gently under her mess of curls, and she batted him away. “You have  _ got _ to stop doing that! You’re going to splinch me one of these times. Just bloody ask me first!” 

He laughed, his head tilting back just so, and she found she almost, kind of,  _ a little _ , enjoyed the sound. It was throaty and deep; it matched his broad frame and confident swagger. “If I’d have asked you, you wouldn’t have come.” 

Merlin, the man was insufferable, and she wanted to argue with him. Truly, she did. But the familiar clatter and scent of the Leaky Cauldron called to her, and she turned on the spot to eye the entrance. “The  _ Leaky _ ?” she snorted. “Is this how you impress all the witches? It’s not exactly what I’d consider a sought after date spot.” Almost as soon as the words had slipped past her lips, she wanted to suck them back in. Her features crumbled, eyes slamming shut, and she began manically shaking her head back and forth. “That’s not what I—”

_ “A date? _ My, how presumptuous of you, Hermione.” Even with her eyes clenched shut, she could see his smirk. Her suspicions were confirmed when she slanted one eye open. His chest was nearly brushing hers as he stared down at her with a wide, proud grin. “If you wanted me to take you on a date, I would’ve preferred at least a couple hour notice so I could shower and buy you some flowers.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it,” she deadpanned, turning on her heel to march into the pub. 

Laughing, he rushed past her, grabbing the door and gesturing for her to enter. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t open the door for my beautiful date?” 

With a loud, exaggerated groan she stomped in. “You’re the same annoying bloke either way.” 

It was almost impressive how unaffected he was by her rejections. Not that she was really being all  _ that _ rude, but each time she insulted him or shut down his advances, it rolled effortlessly off his back. Having given up the fight of having a meal with him, she led him to a booth and slid inside, but when he slid into the seat right next to her, tossing his arm around her shoulder and wagging his eyebrows, she about lost her mind. 

_ “Are you mad?”  _ she cried, pushing him out of the booth as he laughed. 

“Oh, settle down, Granger. I’m only taking the piss.” James rolled his eyes. “You’ve already made it clear in no uncertain terms that you’re repulsed by me and are uninterested in casual sex.” 

“I might not be so repulsed by you if you’d stop being such a prat.” She huffed as she looked over the menu, finding that except for a new font at the top, it wouldn’t much change in the next twenty years. 

A server arrived, silent as she stared at the two of them waiting for their order. “Two fish and chips, and two pints, please.” Grumbling, the waitress disappeared. 

“What if I didn’t want fish and chips?”

Running his hands through his wavy hair, he smirked back at her. “Don’t you? Tell me right now that a big plate of fried food and a beer doesn’t sound incredible. G’on.” 

Hermione wrinkled her nose but said nothing else as the server reappeared with two golden ales and then marched off again. She took a greedy drink, entirely ignoring the fact that she despised the taste of beer. 

“What’d Peter have to say?” James said conversationally, speaking around the lip of his glass. 

For some strange reason, the apples of her cheeks flushed hot, and she shrugged. “I don’t know, nothing really. I stumbled in on him in the library; he seemed pretty upset.” 

He snorted. “Sounds about like Petey.” 

There were words begging to be spoken, ones she had forbidden herself to say. “He seems nice. He sure cares about you lot.” 

James’ eyes darted down to the worn table between them, and he set his beer down, his thumb dragging up and down the side of the glass. “Yeah, he’s a good bloke. Even when Sirius is being a twat.” 

“Why  _ is _ Sirius being a twat?” 

At that, a crooked smile worked its way over his full lips, and he peered up through his full lashes at her. “Long answer or short answer?”

Something about the way he looked about her made her heart flop painfully. It was ridiculous, really; he was a shameless flirt and a reckless Gryffindor who’d never been up against the odds in anything in his life. Not to mention he was Harry Potter’s dad.

She shrugged, taking another sip of her beer. “Both?”

“Well short answer is Petey’s an easy target and Sirius doesn’t like to work that hard; he also doesn’t like a lot of pushback. Remus won’t stand for it, and I sure as hell won’t, but Pete will.” James features relaxed, the facade of his arrogance waning as he spoke and his beer disappeared. “Pete thinks he owes Sirius something—which he doesn’t—and their entire friendship is unbalanced.”

James sighed and then continued. “Long answer? Sirius had a pretty tough hand growing up. He’s doing the right thing, denouncing all that archaic propaganda that Walburga and her friends like to peddle about, but the more he  _ does _ the right thing, the more he’s reminded of what it costs him. His parents and most of his inheritance he could do without, but his brother, Regulus… shite, I don’t know.” 

James paused to run a palm across his chin before finally leaning back with a long sigh. “Like I said, it’s a long story and probably not mine to tell at any rate. What about you? Tell me about the elusive land you come from.” He tipped the last of his beer to his lips, though hers was still sitting at just half drank. 

“Not that exciting, I’m afraid.” Finding she had nothing to do with her hands, she took another long drink of beer, wincing as it slid down her throat. “I would have just finished Hogwarts this year but—“ The words died on her tongue; every sentence, every story was a convoluted labyrinth of things she may or may not be able to say. 

_ “But?” _ James edged, signalling to the barkeep for another round, then leaning forward across the table on his forearms. His stare was disarming, breathing life into her lungs, and while she didn’t know him from Adam, she felt her secrets rattle and beg to be freed. 

“But, I’ve been on the run with my friends since last summer. We spent some time at Grimmauld Place but mostly it’s been sleeping on transfigured cots and eating frozen berries for weeks on end.” Surprisingly, James remained silent, only nodding along as he cradled his chin in his palm. “Things got worse before I left:, Muggle-born registrations, creature restrictions. Disappearances and torture no longer even make the front page of the  _ Prophet _ they’ve become so mainstream.” 

“Merlin’s tit,” James breathed, nodding his thanks to the server who’d brought another round before Hermione had even finished her first. “How much do you know about what’s going to happen now? Obviously we don’t bleeding win if you’re still fighting the same war in twenty years.” 

The journal in her bag phantom burned against her leg. “Winning is complicated,” she allowed, her eyes tightening just barely. “And I’m pretty sure those who survived the first war didn’t feel much like celebrating after it ended. Things get a lot worse before they get better…” 

Sucking his tongue between his teeth, James canted his head to the side and regarded her carefully. “Well, cheers to fixing the whole fucking mess, yeah?”

A hollow peal of laughter trickled past her lips, her cheeks now flushed from the alcohol as well as the company, and she nodded once. “Cheers.” 

xXx

Dinner went by with little more of James’ frustrating antics. There was a sly wink here and there and a flirtatious joke that made her groan because of the sheer terribleness of it, but, strangely enough, she found herself settling into the meal—and her  _ second _ beer—actually enjoying his company. The plates were cleared, and while she fumbled in her purse for her satchel of galleons, he waved her off and slid from the booth. 

“Don’t fuss over it; Tom charges my account monthly.” At that, James turned towards the barkeep, a man that Hermione barely recognized without the additional twenty years of tending to drunks, and gave him a mock salute. 

Hermione bristled and continued to fuss for her money. “Well, I’ll pay you then.” 

“It’s  _ really _ alright; everyone charges my account when we’re here. I don’t mind.” The way he spoke gave Hermione the impression the conversation was closed for discussion, and with wilting shoulders, she nodded her assent and rose to join him. 

“Well, thank you. That’s quite decent of you.” There was a delightful buzzing between her ears as she led the way through the Leaky, gasping at the chill the night offered once outside. “Merlin, it’s freezing. I should’ve brought my cloak.” 

“Don’t worry, love. I’ve got to get you back for your girl’s night anyway before Marley flays me for stealing you in the first place.” Holding out his arm, James arched a brow playfully in her direction. “Shall we?” 

“You’re impossible.” Fighting a smile as she wrapped her arm around his. 

Just as the tugging began and she held tight to the food and beer in her belly, he said, “You love it.” 

A symphony of sound and colour accosted her senses as she felt her body curl and twist with his. It was the most incredible sensation, once one got beyond the nauseating effect of being ripped cross-country in a matter of seconds. Sadly, it was the most intimate physical sensation she could remember having. There was a point in the middle of joint Apparition where you weren’t sure where you started and the other began, where you were almost a single plume of pure magic and when they landed this time, she didn’t feel like retching; she felt like swooning. 

His hands rested on the dip of her waist, their chests bumping with slow, deliberate breaths, and she knew in that moment that if she allowed her drunken arse to look at him while at this close of proximity, she’d lose her resolve and kiss the sod. For that reason, and a hundred-thousand more, she swallowed and took a step away, feeling the ghost of his fingertips as they dropped away from her hips. 

With a few paces between them, Hermione felt safe enough to look at him but she immediately regretted the decision. His stare was dark and heated, lips parted as his gaze roved over her features. Clenching her eyes shut, she reminded herself that none of this was real. He was a charming wizard with a penchant for new baubles. 

“Thank you again for dinner.” In a moment of sheer panic, she thrust her palm between them and winced when he laughed and took it, shaking her hand with a playful smirk. 

“Anytime.” His thumb grazed the back of her hand, settling in the hollow between her thumb and forefinger. “Goodnight.” His hand fell away, and Hermione remained standing there, watching as he took a few steps back. “And I did mean that, by the way.  _ Anytime. _ ” Then he was gone, a column of white magic and fog shooting up into the night sky. 

The flutter in her chest hadn’t quieted since far earlier in the evening and letting go of a tight breath, she allowed her shoulders to sag and disappointment to flood her chest.  _ “Bugger.” _

xXx

Standing outside of 4B, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to enter. Instead, she stood there staring at the peephole for several long minutes, her bag hanging lamely in her fingers and her mind reeling from the hour prior. Any minute now she was going to open the door, she was sure of it. But each and every time her hand twitched for the door, she remembered that Lily Evans was sitting on the other side. 

Hermione didn’t  _ want _ James Potter. No, of course not. 

What she  _ wanted _ was to fix the past. But she was an eighteen-year-old girl, after all. Handsome boys with hazel eyes and silver tongues were bound to have some effect on her… but it shouldn’t be  _ this _ boy because he wasn’t just any boy at all. The rippling effects of her so much as giving a long hug to James Potter could result in Harry never being born at all. 

Hermione arriving in 1979 would undoubtedly change the future, that was the point. But there were a handful of things she couldn’t let go of, things she had to fight for at all costs. 

It’s not like this was the first time she’d been standing at the edge of the end of the world and dealing with romantic turmoil. While it was ridiculous and unproductive, it gave her a sense of normalcy, a placating feeling of her youth that she’d missed out on. 

Lost in her own thoughts, she yelped and jumped wildly as the door was wrenched open.  _ “Merlin! _ You scared the shite out of me,” Hermione gasped, her hand resting on her heart as it thumped wildly under her fingers. 

Lily was there, brow arched and a knowing smile on her lips. “How long are you gonna sit out here?”

“Oh.” A blush climbed up Hermione’s neck as she shrugged. “Just lost myself a minute. Sorry…” 

Stepping aside, Lily ushered Hermione into the flat. After the door latched, the other witch padded past her, denims hugging her hips and ginger hair swaying back and forth. “Marley is still not here. Must have gotten distracted with Sirius. Can I get you a drink?” Lily’s head was already stuck in the refrigerator, her bum poking out past the door. 

“I actually had two beers at dinner, and I’m not much of a drinker, if I’m honest. I’ve had a strong butterbeer do me in…” Her voice trailed off, followed by forced laughter. But when her flatmate returned to the living room, two cans of beer in hand and holding on out to her, Hermione took it immediately. 

Sucking on the rim of her can, Lily made her way to the sofa and promptly fell into the corner, tucking her legs under her as she waited for Hermione to join her. “I know it’s only been a few days, but we haven’t got much time to talk to each other. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Sitting primly on the other end of the sofa, Hermione took a demure sip of her beer just for something to do. “Well, I’m from Hampstead originally; my parents are— _ were,”  _ she paused for a fraction of a moment, the space between her brow wrinkling, “Were dentists.” 

From the other end of the couch was a wild cough.  _ “Dentists? _ You’re Muggle-born?”

The question didn’t always strike fear into the chasm of her chest, but with the recent climate in 1998, it was only natural. “I am,” she replied meekly, taking another sip of her beer. 

“Me too.” 

Hermione knew that, of course, but she hadn’t really  _ considered _ it before. There were more and more tethers between them than not and what was even more was that Lily Evans was completely unaware of them. 

Scrunching her face up to one side, Hermione reached for any tendril of information that might seem noteworthy. “Right, so I went to primary school in North London and got the shock of my life when I got my letter from Hogwarts. I’m Gryffindor, though I was a bit of a hatstall.” 

“Was the old thing trying to put you in Ravenclaw?” 

Hermione chuckled and nodded. 

“You know I don’t blame it,” Lily said. “I might have thought the same, but anyone willing to travel two decades in the past and wage war has to be Gryffindor. I was almost Hufflepuff, actually.” 

“Do you ever wonder why the hat chose differently?” Hermione had; she’d thought of it nearly every day since Harry Potter came into her life. Maybe she’d been meant for a quieter type of childhood, one where she wasn’t thrust into child warfare and time travel. 

Lily carefully considered the question, plucking at the pop-top of her can like a guitar string. “Sometimes,” she finally said with a small shrug. “I feel like I ought to explain how you found us the other night,” Lily continued. “There’s nothing between us—James and I—not even slightly. What _was_ there was years ago and was so short-lived I often forget it happened at all.”

“Oh, that’s not… You don’t have to—”

“Ugh, you would have hated James even more at Hogwarts.” Lily didn’t pause to allow Hermione to argue. “He was such an incorrigible prat. A terrible show off and truly believed he was the universe’s gift to witches.” 

Wrinkling her nose, Hermione allowed the tension that had settled in her shoulders to soften, and she found herself sagging on the couch and matching her new acquaintance’s pose. “I can see that.” 

“But, I have to say James Potter really is one of the most genuine-hearted people I’ve ever met. It shouldn’t happen—us being together the other night like that. It’s just—” Lily paused to pinch the bridge of her nose and Hermione got the distinct feeling that she was on the verge of tears. “Things have been so bleeding impossible lately, and James, while still impossible, has been a constant.” 

“It’s really none of my business,” Hermione reassured her. “I promise that I am unswayed by his charms and even if I were, there are…” Her voice trailed off as she thought of the future. “Well, there are more reasons than I can count as to why it wouldn’t matter. But, luckily for all involved, I’m just here to get this mission done.” 

The weight of an emerald stare settled on Hermione’s cheek, and with a hard swallow, she forced herself to meet it. She’d nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide. 

“If you’re sure,” Lily said, her lips pursed. “I just don’t want it to be because I have allowed myself the pleasure of sleeping with him a few times to keep you from anything. And I assure you, Hermione, having James as a lover… Well, one could do a lot worse.” Her lips twitched into a smile, and if not for the buzzing of beer between her ears, Hermione might have been mortified. As it were, a laugh shocked them both as it worked its way free from her throat. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Running her hand through her riotous curls, Hermione turned her knees towards the witch at the end of the couch, her head canting to the side as she allowed herself to relax. “Can I ask you something?”

Lily hummed, taking another a drink. 

“Well, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m being forward. I’m not very good at having girlfriends, but did you and Remus used to get on?” 

Sobering, the fiery witch blinked quickly a few times. “Oh. No… Well, it’s just—it’s complicated. He’s my best friend, outside Marley. There was a time once where I thought maybe… but Remus had been the one to encourage me to go for James back then. I never would have if he hadn’t been so adamant. He doesn’t see me like that. Which,” she added, a tick to her jaw, “is probably for the best. I’ve lost a friend before due to the silliness of fickle hearts; I’ve no intention of doing so again.” 

The space between Hermione’s brow wrinkled, but just as she was about to inquire for more information, the door opened. 

“Shite, shite, shite. Sorry, lasses! Blame Sirius. The bloke is insatiable. Wouldn’t let me free until he’d had seconds.” Winking salaciously, Marley came tumbling in, kicking off her untied boots and shrugging from her jacket. 

“We figured you’d show up sometime,” Lily snorted. “Girl’s night started without you.” 

With a charming grin that caused dimples to form on her cheek, Marley clapped her hands and rushed to the fridge, procuring  _ more _ beers. 

“Oh, I really shouldn’t…” Hermione tried to fend off another one, but Marley clicked her tongue and dropped it in her lap anyway. 

“You’ll need it,” Lily said in a quiet voice. “Marley’s girl’s nights are rather intense. You’ll thank her for it if you drink up.” 

With round eyes, Hermione heeded her new friend’s advice and took two long drinks from her already opened can. Marley snapped her fingers and from further in the flat, a small box floated free, wrapped in black silk. She worked quietly, only pausing to take long swigs of beer. Soon, the blonde witch was offering Hermione a stack of long cards. 

“G’on! Shuffle! I’ll explain the rest…” 

With a grimace, Hermione acquiesced. She detested divination and any such notions, but for the first time in longer than she could remember, she felt like she had the very real possibility of having female friends. So she shuffled and let Marley explain the rest. 

xXx

The Chariot. The Tower. Ace of Cups. Eight of Swords. Judgment. The Moon. 

Her fate, according to Marley, spread out for her to gawk at. The pictures were lovely, as were the reasonings that Marley gave to their appearance in her spread. Hermione wasn’t one to put stock in such things but because of her quickly growing inebriation, she found it all rather interesting. Each one was connected to the other in a stream of consciousness that she was sure only Marley understood. 

After staring at the spread for quite a while, the three of them falling into easy conversation about the upcoming dread the cards held for Hermione, Lily gathered them and shuffled, split the deck and reassembled it, and then eyed Marley with a curious brow. 

“G’on.” The blonde jerked her chin at her friend. “One card only. Let’s see what the fates have for you.” 

Rolling her eyes, Lily swiftly flipped the top card. The card heralded a pale horse with a rider swathed in loose black garb, a scythe in his hands. The horizon behind him was tumultuous: thick grey clouds colliding with blue skies. At the bottom, in the same neat lettering borne on every card was  _ Death _ . 

Hermione sucked in a hard inhale, her heart seizing in her chest at the forboding card. Even Lily seemed to tense, shifting only when Hermione glanced her way. 

“Don’t worry,” Marley said, her Irish accent rolling easily off her tongue. “It just means change…  _ Big change _ . When something dies, it can’t return to its earlier state ever again. You’ve got big changes coming up.” There was a twinkle in her blue eyes as she spoke, her finger trailing along the edge of the card. “I think we all do.” 

“Yeah,” Lily huffed, settling back with a frown. “Well, I’m ready for a change if it means this entire bloody thing will be over. That’s why you’re here, right?” 

Two sets of eyes settled on Hermione, and she found her tongue useless in her mouth, only able to nod with a waning smile. As the other girls continued talking, Marley sinking to the floor and Lily making herself comfortable in the crook of the couch, Hermione couldn’t resist the pull of the single card upright in the middle of the table. 

xXx

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you so much for reading along and for those of you reviewing, as well! It gives me such a bright spot of the week to hear your thoughts!**

**Biggest of hugs to my lovely friends and team who help me with this hot mess express: Ravenslight, MCal, and NuclearNik.**

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**Hope this update finds you and yours safe and healthy. Until next time!**

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

November 1979

Marauder House

It’d been almost three weeks since Hermione had arrived in 1979. October had finally given way to the devastating chill of November, and Sirius Black was now twenty. 

Birthdays for her as a child had always been more of a private affair, and they remained that way even as she got older and was away from family. Hermione simply wasn’t one of those people who enjoyed lots of eyes on her at any given time, and birthdays often lent themselves to such situations. 

But Sirius Black? 

Well, Sirius seemed all too keen on being the centre of attention. Hermione had surmised as much as she stood at the fringes of the sitting room with almost two dozen other people watching on as he chugged firewhisky from a bottle whilst standing on his own coffee table. Horror etched its way deep into Hermione’s features. How on earth James and Sirius’ egos were able to fit under one roof was beyond her. 

Throughout the duration of the night, she’d met a handful of boozy Gryffindors, and she was pretty sure stoned Hufflepuffs, and yet Hermione remained rooted to her spot near the back door, ever the outsider. 

It was interesting to watch the dynamics of the Marauders and their friends. They were so intrinsically different than the Gryffindors she’d spent her time at Hogwarts with. They were a bit more like Seamus, somewhat less like Neville. 

“Hello!” An accented voice bellowed from her left, causing her to jump and scowl at the intrusion. “Benji Fenwick, pleasure.” He was a little older, thin-lipped and slight with olive skin and dark, tousled hair. She’d thought him about to offer his hand but instead, he reached up and tugged his collar away, revealing a tiny red phoenix under his collarbone. A silent show of faith. 

Hermione smiled, turning to reveal her own over her shoulder. “Hermione Granger.” 

Leaning in, the wizard’s voice fell low like he had a secret. “So, I hear you’re from the future.” 

“I am,” she admitted with a small laugh. “Though I’m afraid not many others here know. I heard them saying I was someone’s cousin.” 

“Ah.” Nodding, he leaned against the bare wall and surveyed the room with her. “Well, how do you find 1979? Is it everything you thought and more?”

Just then, a boom of laughter sounded over the cacophony of the party, and her eyes sought out the source. James had an arm curled around his trim waist, howling with Pete and Remus over something or other. 

“And more,” she said, her voice strangely aloof. Blinking back to the conversation at hand, Hermione fixed a smile over her face. “It’s been a strange few weeks, but I’m here and making the best of it.” 

Nodding, Benji lifted a glass of—what Hermione could only logically deduce was spiked—punch to his lips. “Well, I know you’ve got your hands full and all, but if you’re ever looking for something in between, we can help with that!”

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, a lot of us hold jobs outside the Order; we could help find you employment, or just something to keep you busy _in_ the Order. We have raiders and scouts, all sorts of things needing tended to. The girls do a lot with the safe houses, getting them ready in case of an emergency.”

Considering the daunting task in front of her, she couldn’t fathom the idea of taking on _additional_ work, but unfortunately, the hunt for Horcruxes would be slow. She couldn’t see herself just sitting on her arse and drinking beer with this lot for the long run. Swallowing, she turned to him with a determined nod. “I may just take you up on that, Benji. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Perfect white teeth gleaming in the dim light, he again ran his hand through his hair, jerking his chin over his shoulder. “Can I get you some punch?”

Her brow arched sardonically. “How dangerous is it?”

“This?” He pulled a face, staring at the innocuous little cup. “Won’t kill you, if that counts for something.” 

A bright laugh bubbled forth, and she nodded. “Well, sure then; I’d love a glass.” 

Benji left, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he disappeared into the crowd. Barely a heartbeat passed before a familiar voice sounded in her ear, the wall shaking with the force of James leaning against it with a _thud._ “Benji’s such a wanker!” 

A scoff tore free from her chest as she reeled on him. “He seemed lovely. Well-mannered, wasn’t obnoxiously hitting on me or trying to splinch me across London.” 

“Like, I said—” An adorable lopsided smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, his eyes a bit glassy from too much punch. “Wanker.” 

“You might be biased,” Hermione said with a shrug, fighting off her own smile. 

“Ah, well that’s where you’re wrong,” James scoffed, and Hermione hummed but didn’t respond otherwise. “I’ve given up; heard you loud and clear and since we’ll be working together in such,” he took a step into her, the heat from his chest radiating against her arm, _“close_ quarters, I thought it best I stop irritating you.” 

Her brows pinched together as she pulled a face. “Lucky me.” 

_“Lucky you.”_

Benji appeared then, offering a cup of red punch with delightful cherry-scented steam rising from the surface, and Hermione mumbled her thanks. She took a sip and regarded both wizards carefully. “I thought this was alcoholic?” 

“It is,” they responded in tandem, their faces blank. 

Hermione took another tentative sip, nearly melting at the way the bubbles danced over her tongue. “It doesn’t taste like it.” 

The two wizards shared a knowing look and both raised their glasses to cheers her. “Careful, love,” James said with a wink. “That shite’ll put you underground if you’re not careful.” 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione clinked her glass against theirs and took another long gulp, moaning as she slurped it down. It really was delicious. 

xXx

Hermione Granger, for the first time ever, was completely and utterly pissed. Obliterated, even. The music was unfamiliar but it had a lovely deep melody, and she couldn’t help the way her hips shimmied to the beat of the bass. She was delightfully lost in her own amusement after two—no, three—glasses of punch. Never in her life had she tasted anything so wonderful, and even as she felt her inhibitions lower and her mind implored her to slow down, she couldn’t be swayed. 

And now, she was sucking on the straw of her fourth drink, listening in rapture as Peter Pettigrew described in detail the inner workings of the history of Norse runes and their importance in curse breaking. Under normal circumstances Hermione would be completely enthralled and perhaps even engaging in the conversation; as it were, she was bobbing her head back and forth and staring at the sinfully tight arse of one James Potter. 

With a wild yell, Sirius Black tore her from her trance, jumping on the coffee table with an empty bottle of firewhisky lofted high. “As the birthday boy, I am demanding a game! Gather round you sodding wankers and give old Ogden a spin.” 

The blood drained from her face, her gaze snapping to James who had for some reason turned to eye her playfully over his shoulder. The straw fell from her lips when his lashes fluttered in a wink. Next to her, Peter began sniggering into his cup, and she reeled on him. 

“Why are you laughing?” she asked with a frown.

“Have you ever played this with wizards, Hermione?”

Cataloguing the exact _zero_ times she’d ever played spin the bottle in her life with anyone, magic or not, she quickly shook her head. 

“Well, I’ll tell you this: it’s less to do with luck and more to do with who is best at drunk non-verbal spells.” Realization dripped over her features as she whipped her face back to the epicentre of the party where everyone was gathered. Peter continued, “Have you practised your _Circumrota_ recently?”

xXx

So far the game was a lot of witches and wizards coughing into their hands and snapping their fingers as the bottle twitched back and forth. Hermione had done the most incredible job of hanging far, _far_ back, but as the numbers dwindled she was pushed closer to the fray. Still, with a straw between her lips, she sucked down the lethal cocktail as her head spun with both alcohol and anticipation. 

Before long, all eyes were on her. Shaking her head, she took a step back only to crash into the Prewett twins. The roar of the people surrounding her, urging her on, and gently nudging her forward made her cheeks burn. 

“Come on now, boys!” James stood suddenly, fighting a grin. “She doesn’t want to go; she’s clearly scared.” 

Eyes narrowing, Hermione felt an ember flicker to a flame in her chest. She was a smart girl, drunk or not, and she knew that he was playing her and yet, she was powerless to stop it. With an indignant huff, she took a sharp step forward and focusing her magic, spun the bottle with a hard flick of her wrist. 

It spun freely for a moment, and Hermione’s gaze flickered up to James who was smirking at her. With a furrowed brow she pushed her magic forward, guiding it towards... But it crashed into her that she didn’t know _who_ to guide it towards. She looked quickly around the room, Remus was in the back of the group, eyes dark and jaw clenched. Marlene and then Lily, the Prewetts, and a handful of others. 

Then James coughed and her eyes blew wide and round as she watched the bottle slowing to a halt. 

“You’re an arse, Jamie! Let it spin!” Marlene shouted, staring hard at the bottle until it flicked away from him.

Her heart was in her throat, beating so frantically she couldn’t make sense of it, and then several wizards were moving the bottle fraction by fraction in the strangest tug of war she’d ever seen. From across the table, Sirius stood, reaching his hands up over his head and groaning as he stretched and _just like that_ the bottle snapped to its final destination, its neck pointing decidedly at the birthday boy himself. 

A disbelieving scoff tore from inside her as she stared at the roguish wizard with the devilish smirk. She’d not thought _he_ would try for a kiss and as such had not worried about his magic in the circle whatsoever. 

Every pair of eyes in the room was trained on Sirius Black, whose smirk had spread to an all-out grin. “Guess the fates want us to have a kiss, kitten.” 

“Fates my arse,” Marlene laughed, reaching up her foot to kick him playfully in the bum. 

With a dangerous twinkle in his eye, he lifted his palms to the ceiling and shrugged. “Kiss for the birthday boy?”

It took all her strength not to look at James still seated in the armchair across the small table. She didn’t owe him anything; they weren’t dating. Rolling her eyes once for good measure, she sighed, long and drawn out. “That’s the game, I suppose.” 

“That’s the game.” Edging his way around the table, he muttered his apologies as he brushed by everyone’s knees, which should have been her first hint that Sirius was up to no good. Everyone else had leaned over the table and shared a quick peck, but Sirius was making a show of sidling past James with a long, “ _Parrrdon me.”_

When he was finally at her side, grinning like an all-out fool, he waited. Dozens of stares were intent on them and still, he didn’t lean down to kiss her. It was a sick little power play; he was making her do the kissing. She ought to hit him, but the alcohol turned her brazen and fiery at the silent dare—as if he had no belief that she actually would. 

_How long had it been since she’d kissed a boy?_ She inwardly grimaced at the thought; admittedly, it’d been some time. Shaking her head back and forth a few resolute times, she lifted onto her tiptoes and braced her palms on his chest for balance. Then, with a firm but deliberate press of her lips, she kissed Sirius Black. His full lips twitched under hers, a smile that he was trying to hide, and her brow furrowed. Surely, she wasn’t that bad a snog. 

She pulled away, cheeks burning and eyelashes fluttering. A quiet snickering lilted through the room and just as she began to drop down from her toes, Sirius was on her. One arm banded around her waist, dragging her into him and his hand buried in her curls. Merlin help her, she was snogging Sirius Black. 

His lips moved intently over hers and for a splinter of a moment, she forgot exactly what was happening and allowed herself to be kissed breathless. But after exactly two heartbeats and one cackling laugh from the audience, her eyes shot open, and she gave him a hard shove. When they’d disentangled, he was guffawing, winking once at her as the room roared in riotous laughter. 

“You’re a prat,” she said, breathless and blushing. 

His laughter subsided, although only marginally, and he brought up his thumb to brush against the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for the birthday kiss, kitten.” Clapping his hands, he made his way around the table once again, making a show of inching past James and back over by Marlene. 

Bringing her hands up to rest on her fevered cheeks, she glanced apologetically towards Marlene. Thankfully, she seemed less horrified and more amused, shaking her head at her boyfriend’s antics as he approached. With such ease and precision, he reached down to where Marlene sat and lifted her, the muscles of his arms turning rigid and defined as readjusted them so she was now curled in his lap. 

“You know,” Sirius said, his head lolling towards where James sat, “I think I’m rather bored of this game now. Let’s do something else.” 

“You’re an arse, you know that?” James’ gaze was narrowed, but still, he didn’t seem all that angry. He seemed… _provoked._ “Marley, you ought not sleep with him even if it is his bloody birthday.” Running an agitated hand through his hair, he quickly stood. 

The cluster of people dissipated, James attempting to leave as well. 

“Oi!” Sirius called after him. “That’ll teach you not to tamper with my hair products you tosser!” 

Still blushing, Hermione edged around the group to where Remus stood sulking, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “That was interesting,” she breathed. “I take it that was retribution for a prank.” 

With a dark laugh, Remus dragged a hand through his hair and nodded. “I’m afraid so. James switched out Sirius’ Sleekeazy’s for something that turned his hair putrid yellow and bone-straight. It was a whole to do…”

James laughed his way through the crowd, heading towards the punch bowl. Hermione turned to Remus and realized she’d not seen him drink a drop this evening, nor really spoken with him at all. “Are you okay tonight?”

“Hm?” he hummed, blinking a few times. “Oh! Yeah, um—sorry. It’s the moon.” He pointed absently at the ceiling as his gaze drifted to where Lily stood with the Prewett twins and another girl Hermione hadn’t yet met. “Full moon is tomorrow and the crowds and noise get to me a bit.” 

“Ah.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I remember you said I should call you Moony if you’re being wolfish—is that now?” 

“No.” Dragging his bottom lip between his teeth with a low laugh, he shook his head. “No, you’d know if I was being wolfish. And before I get in such a state, I ought to excuse myself to bed. Goodnight, Hermione. Good luck staying away from those two.”

Hermione remained rooted to her spot as Remus worked his way towards the stairs. Lily must have noticed the same because she was soon darting across the room after him. There was no question that Hermione should not watch their private interaction but she was still rather drunk, and now freshly snogged, so her brain was a bit hazy as she watched. 

Lily was smiling up at him, her hand reaching out to lightly grip his forearm, and Hermione watched in rapture as the witch took a small step into him. A new blush layered on top of the old at the realization that Lily Evans was quite possibly propositioning her dear Professor Lupin, and she tried in vain to tear her gaze away. 

To the left, the front door opened and no one seemed to notice much except for Hermione. A slender boy entered, dressed in a thick wool jacket and heavy boots. For not having ever seen the boy before in her life, she couldn’t help but feel that he was familiar. His hair was curly and deep black, much like Sirius but far tidier, and there was something about the aristocratic cut to his jaw and lines of his nose that sent a fissure of recognition chasing up her spine. 

Regulus Arcturus Black. 

A loud boom of a yell sounded from the chair where Marley and Sirius were pretzeled together, and they both quickly jumped to their feet as Sirius bounded across the room. Hermione’s eyes caught on a movement just behind the two Black brothers as Remus escaped up the stairs, leaving Lily with a trembling jaw, hurt etched into her beautiful features. 

_“REGGIE!_ What on earth are you doing here?” Sirius lifted his brother off his feet, shaking him near violently with a manic smile before setting him back down and holding him at arm’s length. “I didn’t think Walburga let you leave the house these days.” 

Regulus groaned, playfully swatting at his big brother. “You’re a prat, anyone ever tell you that?”

“I have. Several times in fact,” James added in, punching Regulus lightly in the arm. “The bloke won’t listen up and change his ways.”

Hermione felt like an intruder as she watched on, mesmerized by the younger Black who she’d never met. Sweeping an arm around his little brother’s shoulders, Sirius guided him deeper into the party. It was then that James noticed Lily still there, fighting back tears as she smiled wanly at him. 

When James’ full lips twitched down into a sad smile and he took Lily in an embrace, Hermione found her breaking point. Turning away from the intimate moment, she went in hunt of the punch bowl. 

xXx

It was far later than Hermione had intended on staying… She was also far drunker than she could ever remember being. The raucous crowd had dissipated, leaving only a cluster of people remaining. 

At first, Sirius had kept his brother mostly to himself. They disappeared outside awhile, and when they returned they were glassy-eyed and giggly, in search of punch. Even though she knew that she did indeed _need_ to speak to Regulus, her tongue was fat and useless from spiked punch, and her vision a little hazy as she sat in the corner of the couch. 

Currently, James was regaling the stragglers with—by the reaction of the rest of the circle, what must have been an encore retelling—of the time they’d managed to stain the Quidditch pitch red and gold for the match against Slytherin. The only ones still laughing—other than herself—were those involved in the prank; the rest seemed to barely tolerate the same old story. 

“You lot always thought you were far funnier than you were; I assure you.” Regulus shook his head, his previously neatly combed hair falling loose over his forehead. 

As their shared laughter died away, James stood, clapping his palm on Sirius’ shoulder. “We’ve got a long weekend, mates. I’m calling it. Happy birthday, brother.” 

Hermione’s brow knit, curious what would cause for a long weekend. With a final friendly nod to Hermione and a mumbled goodnight to the rest, James made his way down the hall to his bedroom. 

“G’night,” Sirius called after him before grabbing Marley’s legs and dragging them over his lap. “We ought to get going to bed soon, too.” 

Marlene hummed, trailing her long fingers across his stubbled jaw. The blonde turned then, regarding Regulus with a serious arch to her brow. “You’re welcome to stay, Reg. We could all hang out for a bit tomorrow before the boys take off.” 

“Take off?” Hermione blurted, one eye squinting closed as she tried to stop the room from rocking back and forth. “Where’re they going?”

Everyone chuckled, and if she wasn’t quite so bloody pissed she’d reprimand them. It was Peter, who was surprisingly sober, to lean forward and explain. “Full moon tomorrow; we’ll be gone for the run with Moony.” 

_Oh._ That’s right. She nodded, untrusting of her own voice. Lily had been shifting on her couch cushion for several minutes and without preamble, stood. Her cheeks were crimson, and she mumbled a quiet goodnight and then disappeared down the hall—the same hall she’d emerged from for the first time a few weeks prior. The hall where James Potter slept. 

Due only to the alcohol and _nothing else at all_ , her stomach churned at the sight of Lily’s red hair disappearing into the room at the end of the hall. 

One blink. Two. A sharp inhale, and Hermione was back in control. This was how it was supposed to be. _How it had to be._

“Actually,” Regulus said, setting down his beer and rising to his feet. “I ought to go. I’ve got some plans in the morning actually.” 

Sirius snorted. “What? Sacred Twenty-Eight revel? Or just gonna yip at Malfoy and Goyle’s boot heels and offer to carry their bags like a house-elf.” 

The tension in the room shifted— _stilled._ Even Hermione in her severe inebriation could feel it like a blanket. 

“Sirius…” Marlene warned, her voice almost a whisper. 

Regulus, while visibly annoyed, remained silent, his jaw clenched and fists balled tightly. 

_“What?”_ Sirius choked out a laugh. “It’s an honest question, isn’t it, Reg? We heard about your dirty dalliances down in Knockturn.” Each word was a bit too slow, too sloppy; he was clearly pissed drunk and ought not to be having this conversation at nearing one o’clock in the morning. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Turning, the youngest Black headed for the door but Sirius was fast, throwing Marley’s legs off him and rushing to his side. 

“Those idiots are going to get you fucking killed. You’re going down the wrong fucking way and fast. Mum’s basically shoving you down at wand point—” 

“Don’t talk about Mum like that.” Regulus again tried to push past him but Sirius’ hand shot out, gripping his brother hard around the elbow. “Let go of me.” 

“No, Reggie. _No._ Everyone else wants to fucking let you go and I won’t!” His voice cracked as he ripped his brother back a step, almost as if he thought by making him stay in this house a night, he could save him from the inevitable. 

And that’s what this all was— _inevitable._ Regulus needed to become a Death Eater, needed to lend Kreacher to the Dark Lord and then track down the Horcruxes hidden in the cave by the sea. The very cave Hermione would never be able to find without him. She’d considered telling Sirius, but she’d thought better of it when she realized that telling Sirius he’d need to offer up his baby brother as bait _probably_ wouldn’t go over so well. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Regulus’ laugh was dark, rolling off his tongue as he wrenched his arm back into his own possession. He paused only to level his brother with a hard stare and huffed. “Mum was right; I shouldn’t have come.” 

“Don’t fucking—” 

Sirius didn’t get a chance to finish his thought; Regulus was out the door, leaving it wide open, and only a few moments later a sharp _pop_ echoed through the room. The silence following his Apparition was haunting. Sirius could do little more than bury his hands in his hair and stare at the open door. 

_“FUCK!”_ Sirius’ cry cracked, and he stormed up the stairs without another look back. 

That left just Peter, Marley, and Hermione. Fraught silence stretched tight like a string, and Hermione desperately wished to be sober… or gone. Preferably both. 

“I’m gonna go up after him,” Marlene said after a long minute, her lips folding in. “Goodnight.” 

Peter’s lips folded in a tight line, his dark eyes nearly bugging from his head in the wake of the awkward moment. “Do you need help Apparating home? I could—” 

Shaking her head, Hermione swallowed and hugged her knees to her chest. “I don’t think I ought to be Apparating anywhere.” She squeezed a single eye shut. “Splinching and whatnot.” 

He surprised her with a laugh. “Why don’t you take my bed? Come on.” 

“Oh no, _nonono_. Couldn’t possibly.” Her words were slurred and slow. 

Canting his head to the side, Peter gave her a knowing look and jerked his chin. “Come on. Won’t be the first time I’ve slept on the couch.” 

Reason and exhaustion waged a war inside her and finally, the need to pass out won, and she smiled kindly at her unlikely friend. “Thank you, Peter.” 

With the quietest steps she could muster, she followed him down the hall. His room was much like the rest of the house: bare walls and dated carpet. His bed was large though and had a quilt in red and gold laid over top. 

Peter scurried around his room, picking up stray pieces of clothing and tossing them in the hamper. “Do you want a t-shirt or something?” 

She’d been about to say not to bother but he was already rifling through his drawers and offered her a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Taking them, she couldn’t help but feel horribly awkward. A blush bloomed on her cheekbones, and her knees felt a little shaky from the alcohol. “Y’sure you don’t mind? Feel bad banishing you to the couch.” Gesturing towards the bed she made a half-hearted offer. “There’s room for two, and I don’t snore or kick… that I know of.” 

Peter laughed and shook his head. “No, no. I insist. I’ll see you in the morning.” With a final dip of his chin, he was gone, and Hermione found herself in Peter Pettigrew’s bedroom, drunk off her arse. 

xXx

Morning slammed into her. The punch that had been so subtle the night before now felt like a Bludger to the temple. Groaning, she rolled onto her side, drawing her legs up to her chest as she deftly avoided the sunlight. Through a narrowed eyelid she noticed that the sheets were different… the quilt, too. 

_Bugger._ The night before came crashing down in waves around her, and she flinched away from the unwelcome memories. Gently rolling her head back and forth, she tested her constitution. She could Apparate; she just needed to get outside. With a sharp breath, she rolled from the bed and collected her jeans and jumper which she’d discarded the night before in favour of Peter’s nightclothes. Balling them in her arms and picking up her boots, she tiptoed across the floor. 

Everyone ought to still be asleep with how much they drank the night before, and from what she could tell the house was silent. 

Down the hall. Past the wards. Apartment 4B. 

She could do this. 

However, her nerves turned skittish as she reached for the doorknob, her fingers trembling. Exhaling sharply, she creaked the door open and took a nervous look down the hall. _No one._

She’d no reason to be embarrassed; she hadn’t really made an arse of herself or—Merlin forbid— _danced._ But there was an ill twist in her belly, anxiety and leftover punch, and her stomach roiled against her volition. Steeling her resolve, she pressed her toes to the first floorboard, hearing it whine under the pressure, and her eyes clenched shut. 

_“Just go, you coward,_ ” she hissed to herself and stepped fully into the hall. She made it not two steps before the door at the end of the hall opened, steam billowing into the air as Peter appeared. 

“Oh! Hi, Hermione.” Peter Pettigrew was shirtless. And while it didn’t exactly make her belly flop, she did find it wholly unnerving. He dropped the towel from his hair. “ _Accio vest._ Did you sleep okay? Need help home?” A thin white undershirt whizzed past her ear and he caught it deftly. 

_“PETEY! SHUT IT!”_ James bellowed from inside his room, and she felt her heart quicken and stall, her vision turning hazy as her hangover escalated. “Too early for your bullshite!” 

Peter rolled his eyes, pulling his vest over his head. “Ignore him; he’s not a morning person.” 

An awkward laugh wheezed from her lips. “It’s really alright, I ought to head back to the flat anyway.” 

“Are you sure? You can stay if you want—the girls are here and we’ll probably get something to eat—” 

The door across the hall was wrenched open, James Potter standing in naught but his shorts. His broad chest was on display, a silvery scar over his heart and a thin covering of trim chest hair. Slowly, his enraged face dripped into a mask of disbelief as his eyes trailed over Hermione, and she darted her gaze away, unable to bear it. 

Not only was she still at the Marauder house at an ungodly hour, but she was wearing Peter’s clothing—the same Peter who was freshly showered and standing at the end of the hall. Horror twisted her features and if possible, she’d have liked to melt into a gelatinous goo and seep through the worn floorboards. 

A flash of hurt flickered in his hazel eyes but James quickly hid it. “Well, _this_ I was not expecting.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Hermione rushed, her cheeks blazing to life. 

“Yeah, James, don’t be an arse. She couldn’t get home—” 

James snorted, his brows pinching high and tight on his forehead.. “Lucky good ol’ Peter was here to help.” 

A strange surge of protectiveness swelled inside her and her head snapped in his direction. “Yes. It was.” James’ nostrils flared, his lips mashing into a thin line as he stared intently back at her. Ticking her jaw up a fraction of an inch, she turned back to Peter. “Thank you again. Can I get these back to you later?” 

“O-of course!” Peter stammered, wringing his towel between his hands. Hermione merely nodded and turned sharply to leave. 

As she passed James’ room, she looked right past his shoulder and waved brightly to Lily who was clutching a thin sheet to her chest, her shoulders hunched in shame. “Hi, Lily! See you back at the flat!” She forced as much friendliness as she could into the greeting, then turned to send a glacial stare to James and made for the front door. 

Over her shoulder, she could hear a few more exchanged words and a muttered spell, but she refused to slow her step as she bounded through the front door and down the steps. Of course, James Potter would not let her away that easily. He was hot on her heels, shrugging on a jumper as he chased her barefoot across the lawn, still sans trousers. 

“Oi! What’s all that about?” His hand shot out, wrapping gently around her elbow and turning her back. “You and Pete?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, pulling her arm back. She was going to leave but a strange protective anger surged forth first. “Even if something _had_ happened, why on earth would you care?” 

_Dangerous, Hermione. Too dangerous._

“You know why I’d care,” he deadpanned, running a hand through his hair. 

She barked out a laugh, hugging her clothes to her chest. “No, James, I really, _really_ don’t. Because you’re with Lily, and you say you’re not but you are—or you will be. Not to mention, _you_ slept with her last night! You don’t get to pretend like you give a shite what I do if you’re off sleeping with other witches.” 

A withering sort of pout twisted his features. “Yeah, well, I’d be rather inclined to have been shagging you, love, but you’ve made it perfectly clear you’ve no interest in it. So why do you care if I shag her?”

Hermione’s jaw fell open, and she quickly slammed it shut, pushing the following words through clenched teeth. “ _I don’t care._ I only care that _you_ care when you ought to only be caring about what happens between you and Lily.” The convoluted explanation left her breathless and confused, and James could do little more than gape at her. 

“ _WHAT?”_ he cried out with an exasperated huff. “I’ve no idea what you’re bloody talking about, witch!” 

With a growl, she threw her hand in the air. _“Neither do I!”_ Without waiting for him to respond, she marched past the wards and Disapparated in a _crack_.

xXx

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I posted it a day early because I’ve been so excited to share this one! I had so much fun writing it. Big thanks as well as to my lovely Alpha and Beta’s: Ravenslight, MCal, and Nuclear Nik!**

**Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing and I hope this update finds you healthy and safe.**

**Back in a few days! Mwah!**

  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I’ve stated before but also would like to reiterate that Hermione travels back in** **_early_ ** **April 1998— before her visit to the Lovegoods and subsequent capture and Malfoy Manor. In canon, this is when she learns about the Deathly Hallows as well as about the cup and its location. Because she travelled prior to that, she only has the information Dumbledore had detailed in his notes.**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**xXx**

November 1979

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

  
  


_ Hogwarts. _

The thought alone had sent a shiver chasing over her skin and knotted her stomach. She hadn’t set foot on its hallowed ground in almost a year. From the few scattered reports they’d been able to obtain, the school was little more than a breeding ground for Dark Magic in the spring of 1998 and students and faculty alike were scared into submission. 

At Professor Dumbledore’s request, Hermione had arrived on the bank of the Black Lake by Portkey at precisely two o’clock. Nostalgia crashed over her. The trees were bare, finally letting go of their desperate cling to their leaves and washing the dull ground with a riotous stream of colour. The school itself stood identical to the one she knew twenty years from now—most likely identical to the way it had stood since its construction. 

There was something to be said about being a Muggle-born. Most people only saw it as a disadvantage; without the years of upbringing and immersion into the magical world, one could only surmise that Muggle-borns would have a harder time assimilating. While that was inherently true, Hermione could boast having the best of both worlds, and the first night they’d glided across this lake and onto the bank as a handful of bright-eyed first years, she knew that she was experiencing it in a special way. 

It’d been a dream; a dream that blossomed into the most unbelievable reality, and standing here now at eighteen she couldn’t help but feel a longing to go back to before it all began. 

Fixing her bag over her shoulder, Hermione traipsed along the grounds, winding her way through the throngs of students enjoying their Saturday and the idle chatter of the castle that she knew so well. 

Standing at the foot of a moving stairwell, awaiting its return, Hermione heard a familiar Scottish burr that caused a bubble of relief to burst in her chest.  _ “Mister Windsor!  _ I know I do not see your hand where I do on Miss Gregors!” Whipping around Hermione found her old mentor, looking completely different and yet quite the same. “And you! Miss Reed! I saw that! Ten points from Hufflepuff.” 

Tossing her hands in the air, Professor McGonagall let out a sharp huff, her eyes landing on Hermione, who probably stuck out like a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a pumpkin patch. With a tight smile, Hermione lifted her fingers into the air and waved awkwardly. 

“Hello,” McGonagall said with a tight-lipped frown. “May I help you?”

She wasn’t sure she’d ever get over this feeling—the one where the most important people in her life had no idea who she was. “I’m on my way to meet with Professor Dumbledore. He’s expecting me.” 

“Ah…” Arching one thin eyebrow, McGonagall nodded sharply. Hermione couldn’t help but notice the differences in her, the darker hair and fewer wrinkles. She seemed less marred and scarred by the world but still, she boasted a brilliant hat and robes with a high collar. “I’ll escort you.” 

The staircase had since returned and her teacher began the walk, her fingers resting along the railing as she climbed. They walked mostly in silence until they turned down a corridor where there were no students. 

“Albus told me little about you. It’s Miss Granger, is it not?” 

Lips twitching into a smile, Hermione could only nod. The number of times this woman had reprimanded her and her friends was truly countless, and it felt a bit like getting away with murder that she was none the wiser. 

“Minerva,” she said, introducing herself with a curt gesture to her chest. “I suppose you’re working with the Order?”

“Yes, ma’am. Slowly but surely.” 

The elder witch hummed, stopping in front of the stone gargoyle guarding the stairs to the headmaster’s office. “Well, should you need anything, I’m happy to be of service to you. I don’t attend many meetings but I am still an active member of the Order and ready to assist you should you need.” Turning to the entry, she said, “Flutterby,” and then turned to leave. 

The passage appeared and just as Hermione stepped inside, Minerva called out again. “You’re Gryffindor, aren’t you?” Standing just a few feet away, Minerva stood proudly, chin tilted high and eyes dancing with assurance. Hermione nodded. “I can tell,” the elder witch added with a twitch to her lips.

She said nothing more, both of them parting on their separate paths as Hermione was left to chew on the strange sentiment. As she climbed the stairs she found herself lost in time. 

Finally ascending into Professor Dumbledore’s office, she found it quite nearly the same. A fledgeling phoenix sat perched near his desk, the likes of which was cluttered with books and loose parchment. Lining the walls were a dozen sleeping portraits and a giant stained glass window framed the room. 

“Professor?” Her voice carried through the office; Fawkes bristled at the interruption to his nap, crying out once before settling back in and tucking his chin. 

From a door in the corner, Albus appeared, sporting deep indigo robes with constellations embedded into the fabric, glasses perched low on his nose. “Miss Granger,” he said. “So happy you could make it on such short notice. I will endeavour to be a more thoughtful host as of next. Tea?”

Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she nodded and took a small step forward. “Please.” 

With a weathered, knotted hand he gestured towards a small table under the window and Hermione slowly made her way there, letting her eyes roam around the room. 

“And how do you take your tea, Miss Granger?” 

“Hermione is fine, Professor, and strong, splash of milk. Thank you.” 

The silence that stretched on as he prepared her cuppa was fraught and uncomfortable. It was again another time in her life where she felt at odds with herself, fighting the candour of speaking to one whom she knew so well and the reality that she was a stranger. 

When the tea was prepared, she lifted her cup to her lips, ignoring the clattering of the saucer and the cup in her trembling hands. He prepared a similar cup for himself and rested back in his armchair, hovering it over his beard as he stared at her. “Tell me, how is your project so far?”

She bristled. “Project” made it seem like a hobby or something for potions class, and it felt decidedly  _ more _ than that. “As to be expected, I’m afraid.” When he simply blinked back at her, waiting for an elaboration, she continued, “Slowly.” 

“Is there anything I can help with?” 

Shifting in her seat, she set down her tea and pulled her journal free, taking a moment to trace the phoenix engraved in the leather before flipping it open. “It’s believed there are four remaining Horcruxes. The first we retrieved from Little Hangleton, as you know. The second is a locket.”

Dumbledore’s wiry brows tugged tightly together. “And where is this one currently?” 

“In a cave by the sea deeply guarded by magic, but the sequence of events is rather important here. We can’t go there now, not that I’d know how even if we could. Within the next few months, You-Know-Who begins to worry about the safety of his Horcruxes and checks their defences. What follows next can not be disrupted. If he goes and it’s not there, he may begin to move the others as a precaution.” 

“So we wait?”

“Yes, for now. But there are other things…” She paused, flicking through her notes once again. “We need a way to destroy the Horcruxes.” 

Dumbledore’s head canted to the side, his eyes tightening in thought. 

“ Over the following months, we need to collect them, keep them safe. There will come a time to destroy them but it can’t be too early.”

Something dark flickered in his otherwise clear blue eyes. “How many are there?” 

Sucking in a hard breath, Hermione steeled her chin. “I’m not completely sure… As of early April 1998, we know of three. In a memory, Tom Riddle alludes to creating seven—”

“ _ Seven?” _

Hermione nodded. She’d practised her explanation a thousand times and still, it felt watery and thin, unable to sustain weight. “A Horcrux is thought to have been created around 1994 from his familiar, and in your notes you detail that my friend, Harry Potter, is inadvertently created as Tom’s final Horcrux. This happens on October 31, 1981 when he enters the Potter home and murders James and Lily Potter.” 

Saying the words felt like a treasonous act. The events of Halloween 1981 had been more widely known than almost any other account in Wizarding history; it was the catalyst for the end of the first war. Yet, now that she  _ knew _ these people, it left a bitter taste in her mouth to speak so plainly of their deaths. 

_ “That  _ is the moment we need to avoid. If Harry becomes a Horcrux… well, things get far more complicated if that happens, professor.” 

“I see.” Dumbledore set down his saucer, his lips folding into a flat line as he steepled his long fingers in front of his lips. “Two years?”

“Two years, sir. That’s all we have. I need to determine the final Horcruxes, track down the journal which is  _ hopefully _ in Lucius Malfoy’s possession, and finally—” Her features pinched painfully as she closed her notebook and tucked it into her lap. “I need to tell you about the Chamber of Secrets.” 

Albus’ features waned, his jaw going slightly slack as he stared back at her. “How on earth do you know about that?”

Memories of her second year flooded the forefront of her mind, and she smiled weakly. “I know a great deal, sir, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.” 

xXx

She’d explained the situation with the Basilisk fangs in great detail, including the events surrounding Tom Riddle’s journal in 1993. Yet, with full knowledge that a monster slept in the bowels of Hogwarts, kept in suspended animation for only so long as someone left him undisturbed, Albus Dumbledore remained stoically silent. 

Truth be told, she’d expected some form of shock or awe from her old Headmaster. After all, the monster in the Chamber of Secrets had been the longest kept secret in Hogwarts’ history. But he remained unaffected, peering over his half-moon spectacles as he dragged his hand over his long silver beard. 

After a long moment of silence, she let out a sharp breath and continued on, her eyes widening in frustration.  _ “So _ , we need to enter the Chamber of Secrets, kill the Basilisk, and extract its teeth. Which I know seems daunting but I’ve done my research, and—“

“Absolutely not, Miss Granger.” 

His short reply slammed into her, and she blinked several times to be sure she’d heard it properly. “I’m sorry?”

“We are not, under any circumstances, entering the Chamber of Secrets. It’s far too dangerous—even for me.” 

Jaw falling open, Hermione could do little more than stare. When her brain had finally caught up, she tried again. “Sir, there’s no other way. Destroying these Horcruxes has been our job for over a year; we’ve tried everything! The Basilisk fangs—”

“Will remain in the Basilisk’s mouth for the foreseeable future.” 

An indignant, disbelieving laugh pushed past her lips, and she quickly tried to stifle it. “This is our only chance!” 

“It’s not, Miss Granger. It seems obvious enough that in the time you herald from, I am no longer there. I think you will find my resources vastly overshadow yours. I will look into alternative ways to destroy the Horcruxes. From what you say we have two years; that’s a lot of time. That Basilisk has killed and petrified students before, and I will not risk the safety of those housed in Hogwarts unless absolutely necessary. If there is no other option—which I can not believe is true—then we will explore the safest route to enter the Chamber.” 

“Sir, I have to insist—”

“You will insist nothing,” he interrupted, his eyes hard and serious. “I promise you that you will not be left without a way to destroy the Horcruxes. Until then, continue on your mission. I will assist in any way that I can, of course.” 

She wanted desperately to argue, but in her limited experience, Albus Dumbledore was not a man to be swayed. So she sipped on a cup of lukewarm tea with far too much milk and stewed. 

xXx

Early the following day, Hermione attempted her first solo Apparition to Longbottom Hall. There were standard wards on almost every magical home; some people went further on even than that with more complex enchantments, but the protective spells around Headquarters were enough to give Hermione serious pause. When her trainers sunk into the plush lawns outside the wards of the estate, she breathed a sigh of relief. 

The night before, with the Marauders off on a run and the girls working to outfit a safe house in Scotland, Hermione had found herself woefully alone, twiddling her thumbs and watching the minutes pass. She needed to take up Benji’s offer to find her  _ something _ to do. Hermione wasn’t built for idle hands, and her research had been nearly exhausted in the months leading up to her travel. She still wasn’t sure exactly  _ what _ she would do to help, but surely there was something other than staring at the wall. So she’d sent an owl off to find Benji Fenwick, asking him to meet her at HQ if possible. 

Stepping over the threshold of the back door, she stomped the wet leaves from her shoes and tugged her jacket firmly around her torso. The house was quiet but a kettle sat on the stove simmering and a record played in some distant corner. 

“Hello?” Hermione called out, craning her neck down the hall. She was met with silence and with a shrug, she worked her way to the kettle and prepared herself a cuppa, then stole away to the library down the hall. The impressive wall of windows was even more so with the early sun pouring in and as she entered, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of reverence. 

It was no secret that Hermione harboured a serious love affair with the written word. After nearly a year on the run with only a handful of books, including a tattered copy of  _ Beedle the Bard, _ being amongst her long lost loves demanded an emotion that needed to be felt.

It was the normalcy of it all that stunned her. For months she’d slept on a cot with little in the way of hygiene or food, and with a single long-jump time turner, her reality in 1998 began to haze at the edges, fading until it now felt dreamlike. 

After all, it wasn’t as though this was the first time she’d been thrust into a world she didn’t know or understand with strange faces and places. Knowing how life tended to hand things to her, it wouldn’t last either. She turned to the left, stopping in front of the first row of books and letting her gaze wander over the spines. 

Tomes of varying colours, age, and thickness adorned the shelves and idly she plucked one at random, studying the front.  _ Self-Defensive Spellwork by Ignes Wright. _

Considering that both Frank and Alice Longbottom were Aurors, they must boast quite the collection on the Dark Arts. After making a mental note to inquire more, she pressed the book back into its home and continued on. 

Floating her cup of tea next to her, she slid another book free and thumbed through its pages. Somewhere in the house a door crashed open, causing her to jump and nearly bump into her tea. Scowling, she snapped the book shut just as a roar of loud voices filled the air. With a huff, she snatched her tea from the air and marched towards the hall. 

_ “I’LL KILL HIM!”  _ Just then, Sirius barreled down the hall, boots heavy under his foot and blood pouring down his face. 

“Mate,” James whined, hot on his heels. “Just let me see!” 

“Fucking wanker!” Sirius was bounding up the stairs, growling to himself and neither of them acknowledged Hermione standing there gawking. 

Wrinkling her nose, she set down her cuppa and followed them. There was a large bright room at the end of the hall, its double doors open wide. Sirius and James were already inside, the former rummaging through cabinets and making a mess, the latter watching on mutely. 

“What on earth are you two doing?” Neither of them turned to regard her, and she stomped her foot and shouted, “ _ Hello! What on earth are you two doing?!”  _

Both boys whipped around, their eyes narrowed. Sirius’ had a bloodied cheek, a deep gash marring his brow. 

With a long sigh, she approached him, gently taking his chin in her hands and clucking her tongue as she turned his head back and forth. “What happened?”

“Bloody Moony! Made it almost all night without a scuffle. The prat gets a little more cantankerous as the night wears on and he caught me a few moments before transforming—slammed Prongs into a fucking tree trunk, too.” 

Mashing her lips together, she shook her head and pointed towards one of the patient tables in the centre of the room. “G’on. Sit. I’ll fix you up.” 

As Sirius silently obeyed, Hermione set to work finding her way around the room. It was set up as an infirmary, cabinets and shelves lining two walls, everything white and sterile with a few potted plants near the window. The first cabinet she approached held mostly Muggle supplies: gauze, tape, bandages, over the counter medication. She closed it and moved onto the next which housed some vials. Inside were an array of potions of varying colour and size: Blood Replenishing, Pepperup, Skele-Grow, and fever reducers. There was one for pain, but no dittany. 

Pulling her wand free, she flicked her wrist. “ _Accio_ _dittany_.” Nothing moved, not even a single rattle of a vial bottle, and she scowled and tried again. 

“There’s likely not any,” James said, and when she turned she found him hugging his torso. They both looked tired, purple shadows under their heavily lidded eyes and a slump to their shoulders. “They’ve been working on bolstering the supplies but between outfitting the safe houses and the Death Eater Brigade slowing up production times in Diagon, we’ve been running low.” 

“No one’s brewing them here?” she queried, crossing her arms in thought. 

“When they can.” James shrugged. “Everyone’s a volunteer and most people are working full-time jobs and then helping with the Order when they can.” 

Humming, Hermione crossed the room and stood in front of Sirius. “I’ll have to stitch it up magically if you don’t want a nasty scar.” Sirius flinched, baring his teeth. “What?” Hermione laughed at his reaction. 

“Sirius is a bit squeamish, aren’t you, mate?” 

The injured wizard could do little more than glare at his comrade before turning back to Hermione.  _ “Stupify _ me first, would you, kitten?” 

Hermione blinked several times with a gaping jaw, unable to decipher if the oaf was serious. From over her shoulder, the tip of a wand appeared.  _ “Stupify.”  _

Sirius dropped back on the table with a _ thud  _ and Hermione shrieked and batted James’ hand away. “Why on earth did you do that?” 

“He asked me to.” 

_ “No _ , he didn’t. He asked  _ me _ to, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to or not.” Hermione sniffed and tilted her chin in the air. Too quickly that she realized she was arguing for the sake of arguing, and she allowed her icy exterior to soften just a breath. “Are you hurt?” she muttered from the side of her mouth. 

“Not much,” James wheezed, climbing onto the other patient table. “Remus gets a little tetchy is all. We try to keep him from slaughtering Muggles and eating animal carcasses, so by the end of the night he’s a bit done with us.” 

Pulling her wand free, Hermione adjusted Sirius’ head and cast a stitching charm she’d learned on the run. An ethereal silver needle with a long strand of iridescent string appeared, and as James spoke, she carefully wove between Sirius’ ruined flesh, tying it together. 

“Did he forget his Wolfsbane?” she asked absently, grimacing as the magical needle worked its way through a particularly rough patch of flesh. “He did that once our third year.” Her gaze fell to Sirius’ handsome features, remembering them marred and dirty when she’d met him in Shrieking Shack. Her breath shuddered, and she quickly shook her head to clear herself of the memory. 

“He doesn’t have any. Every once in a while he’ll get some—and I’ll tell you the runs are always far more fun—but no, most months it’s just us keeping him from descending into a complete animal.” 

The blood drained from her face as she slowly turned to where James sat. “What do you mean? Why on earth wouldn’t he take it? I know it’s expensive but surely Dumbledore and the Order could—“

“I thought you said you  _ knew _ Remus Lupin?” James snorted, wincing and bringing his fingers up to his ribs. “For being someone with absolutely nothing, he’s the proudest and most fucking stubborn prick I ever met.” 

Hermione choked back a startled laugh, gaping at James’ seething indignation, and with a sharp shake of her curls, returned to the task at hand. It was always the tie-off at the end that gave her a hard time. She’d practised on torn bits of fabric while on the run; it was something to keep her hands busy and as the dittany and other potions ran low, she’d known it was only a matter of time. 

Gnawing on the side of her lip, Hermione curled her wand, gently tugging the string through the loop with great concentration and securing it tightly. When it was finished, she shook her wand free of the charm and made her way back to the cabinet with Muggle supplies. She quickly found a box of butterfly bandages and secured them to Sirius’ brow before pulling her wand free and pointing it at his face once more.  _ “Tergeo. _ ”

The blood that had begun to cake and dry on his cheek retracted, retreating in on itself over the wound until it was gone entirely. Feeling wholly accomplished and a bit chuffed at her own prowess, if she was being honest, she turned back to James who was still clutching to his ribs. 

“I thought you said you weren’t hurt,” Hermione huffed, reaching for the hem of his shirt. James became strangely protective, batting her away and jumping from her touch, only to groan at the sudden movement. “James Potter, you’re hurt. Let me see this instant.” 

“I’m fine, love—promise.” 

“You’re not,” she deadpanned. She reached for his shirt again and he jolted away, crying out as he twisted. “I swear, I will stupefy you if I have to! Just let me see.” 

Thankfully he relented, his hand falling away so Hermione could lift the bottom of his shirt. Over his hip was a deep purple bruise. As she lifted the fabric higher, her stomach knotted at the sight of a massive smattering of black and purple, even some red on his ribs. 

“Merlin, did you stay a stag even after you’d been hurt? These don’t look like it happened near the end.” 

He sniffed, leaning his weight on his left hand so she could see more of his side. “Yeah, didn’t hurt so much so I just stayed.” 

Hermione snapped her gaze to him, her eyes narrowed into slits. “If you think you have a broken rib, why on earth would you continue on? Why would you sit here like nothing’s wrong?”

“Because nothing  _ is _ wrong. It’s not the first time Moony’s roughed me up—won’t be the last. It’s a hazard of being friends with the bloke.” 

With a long sigh, Hermione turned for the cupboards, rifling through them until she found a large jar of bruise paste. Returning to his side, she stared decidedly at the cot. “Take your shirt off.” 

A forced trickle of laughter pushed from deep inside James’ throat, and he winced as he started working the shirt up, unable to properly lift his arm. “Well you only had to ask, love—” he paused, gasping, his features twisted in pain. “ _ Merlin-fuck-it-all.” _

Hermione liked to think she’d put a lovely little coat of armour around her heart but she felt his pain weaken her resolve, her heart aching for him. Reaching out, careful not to brush her fingers against his skin, she helped him push his arm free and then repeated on the other side before pulling it over his head. 

“Um, just—” She gulped. “Just lean back like that. If you take a little sip of Skele-Gro, should be set quicker but be careful not to push it or you’ll just offset it. Here.” Hermione opened the jar of bruise paste and held it out to him. 

With a pained grimace, he worked his fingers into the white cream and tried to twist to get it on his own side. 

Groaning, she yanked the jar back into her own possession and dipped her fingers in its cool contents. “Merlin, you lot are so helpless. How on earth do you survive when I’m not here?” 

With a sharp bark of laughter, he opened his side to her, his face now inches from hers. “I ask myself that everyday, love.” 

Carefully, she pressed her fingertips onto the centre of the injury, muttering an apology when he winced. “This will hurt, but it should get better once it’s been properly applied.” 

James nodded, his lips mashed together. Slowly, she began working the cream over his ribs, careful to exact the right pressure so as not to further harm him but also to yield the best results. Soon her fingers were swirling freely over the large area, and she was utterly lost, watching as her fingers left trails in the paste, sweeping up near his bicep and then low into the sharp cuts of his hips. 

“You know,” James wheezed, “I might need to have you come over to reapply… I fear Sirius won’t have the right touch.” 

“You’re incorrigible.” Her lips tried to betray her by twitching into a smile, but she fought it ardently, her fingers slipping to a dip between two ribs and pressing just a touch too hard. 

“I try my very best,” he managed through a clenched jaw. 

For the next few minutes, Hermione worked in silence, covering every inch of his injury until his breathing was a little less ragged and the tension had slipped from his torso. 

“We ended things,” he blurted, lancing through the silence with an unwelcome confession. 

“What?” 

“Lily and I. Well, we ended things as far as the casual sex things go. We agreed it was time to stop.” 

A blush burned on her cheek,s and she quickly began sputtering and shaking her head. “James, you shouldn’t have—”

“It’s not for you,” he breathed. Something like hope and terror seized her chest, and she suddenly found it impossible to breathe. “It could be, if you wanted it to be… but, it was the right thing to do. That’s why we ended things. I’m not an idiot; I know her and Remus are keen on each other and the only thing keeping them apart is Remus’ perceived reality that Lily is in some way mine. If he asked her to marry him tomorrow she’d say yes and… I don’t know why I’ve let it go on. It was selfish of me.” 

The past—or rather future—shimmered and faded in Hermione’s mind, the details hazing as her gaze travelled between his hazel eyes. He was too close, too attractive,  _ too dangerous. _ He was a distraction she couldn’t afford and one that cost too much. It could cost the world Harry Potter. 

As her vision doubled from staring too long—and possibly not breathing—James’ hazel eyes turned emerald, his hair going straight but still messy and round glasses appearing on his face. With a disbelieving laugh, she brought her palm up to her dear friend’s face and allowed herself the briefest of moments of being in his presence again—imaginary or not. 

When a warm hand rested over hers, she sucked in a shark breath and blinked away her delusions. The reality was that she had her fingers splayed over James Potter’s abdomen and a hand cradling his jaw. Choking, she jumped back and clenched her eyelids shut, desperate for relief. 

“Um...” Words failed her as her lips grasped for some semblance of a thought that she could articulate. “Right. You’ll need to reapply until the bruise is better... which I’m sure you already knew.” With an awkward smile, she held the jar out for him, deftly ignoring eye contact with him. 

“Thanks, Hermione.” 

“You’re welcome. And don’t forget the Skele-Gro, yeah? It’ll help.” Her gaze drifted over to Sirius, slack-jawed and snoring lightly. “Should I wake him?”

“Nah,” James laughed, shrugging his shirt back on. “Let him sleep it off. He’ll be alright. I’m gonna head into one of these rooms and sleep myself.” 

At that, Hermione allowed herself to look at him once more, a weak smile pulling on her cheeks. “Bye, James.” 

He winked, hopping off the table and dipping his chin in her direction. “See you.” 

xXx

Staring out the back window of Longbottom Hall, Hermione cradled a quickly cooling cup of tea, watching as Benji and another member of the Order, who Hermione recognised from the other night, crossed the lawn. In hindsight, Hermione might have told them a time to meet her instead of just saying the following morning and costing her two hours of sleep. 

As they pushed through the back door sharing a laugh, Hermione filled her lungs and squared her shoulders. 

“Morning, Hermione!” Benji said happily, holding the door for his companion. “This is Dorcas Meadowes; she works with the Order. Specifically, she’s our lead raider.” 

Dorcas grinned and as she did so, Hermione couldn’t help but notice the smattering of dark freckles on her rich skin. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger! I hear you’re looking for other ways to help.” 

Shaking Dorcas’ hand and then Benji’s, Hermione fixed a serious set to her features. “I actually think I may have figured out a way I’d like to help.” 

The two senior Order members shared a look and shrugged, taking a seat at the table and gesturing for her to do the same. “Please, Miss Granger—we’re all ears.” 

xXx

**A/N: I’m so eager to know your thoughts!! I hope you enjoyed this update and it finds you well. Thank you for reading and reviewing, it makes all the hair pulling completely worth it!**

**Thanks to my A/B’s: MCal, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik!**

**Until next time!**


	9. Chapter 9

December 1979

Longbottom Hall

The tricky part of brewing Wolfsbane was… Well, there were several things that made brewing Wolfsbane difficult, but the most concerning of which was the Aconite. The flowering part of the plant was imperative to the draught but the stems were lethal in even the smallest dose. Not to mention that this particular batch had _not_ been harvested under the light of the full moon—as at the last full moon she hadn’t known she’d been brewing it—so the brew would need to be steeped in moonlight for a fortnight. This all meant that the steps needed not only to be rushed but to be executed _perfectly._

She’d purchased this bundle of Aconite from an apothecary in Diagon; it had cost her almost seven galleons. The powdered moonstone and silver had also been abhorrently expensive and now, nearly thirty galleons later, she had a table full of ingredients that with a single incorrect movement could render Remus Lupin dead. _Joy._

In the last few weeks, she’d taken to brewing for the Order. It was a slow process, that was to be sure; she wasn’t what most would consider a master potioneer. She blamed it on Snape and his predilection for anyone who wasn’t her, but regardless, she liked to think herself proficient enough to brew a batch of Dittany and Blood Replenishing draughts. 

But Wolfsbane? Well, that took a sure hand and intense skill. 

The idea that Remus Lupin was suffering through the moon, ready to rip someone’s throat out and harm his friends was inconceivable. She understood being proud but he was choosing a ridiculous thing to take a stance over. However, she hadn’t expected the cost of the potion to be exactly _that_ high. It was well known that Wolfsbane was hard to come by for those inflicted with Lycanthropy but this was outrageous, not to mention she’d have to actually brew it herself. 

Since starting this project, she’d begun researching places to harvest the ingredients herself as well as those for the other potions the Order was in dire need of. However, this cycle the galleons would come from her own coffers. 

When Dumbledore had offered her the journal and a single long-jump Time-Turner, he’d also given her a charmed satchel with a small fortune buried inside. She’d hoarded it away, knowing that if the time were to come, she’d need the money to survive. Now, any knut spent felt like an extravagance. 

Sucking in a long breath, she charmed a protective enchantment over her hands, feeling magic cover her palms and fingers like a glove. For a long moment, she stared at the innocuous little plant, violet buds in various stages of bloom and a thin green stem. Scowling, she picked up her parrying knife and sliced away the first of the blooms, careful to keep as much of the flower intact as possible while still discarding the stems. 

She worked quietly— _methodically_ —allowing her mind to stay intent to the task at hand. It’d been some time since she’d been able to exercise this part of her education, and it felt normal in a time where nothing else at all had. 

The space she’d occupied was a small den in the north corner of the house; it had a simple potions lab set up, empty vials and a few ingredients, though upon hearing of her idea to brew solely for the Order, Benji and Dorcas had endeavoured to secure her more supplies. Already in the last week a few new mortars and pestles, a set of knives and shears, and an extra-large cauldron had arrived. 

This provided her with a greater purpose than the one at hand, not that the acquisition of Horcruxes wasn’t grand enough, but the waiting was proving to be too difficult. 

A knock on the door startled her and her knife slipped, nearly slicing into her finger but ruining the stem as well. Banishing the magic on her gloves, she called for the intruder to enter and cast several intense cleaning charms over where the poison of the aconite had slipped, then burned the rest for good measure. 

“Hello?” A small voice Hermione now recognised tittered through the air and she turned to find Alice Longbottom peeking into the room. “Hermione?”

“Hi, Alice. Can I help you with something?” The witch was perfectly lovely. She had such a sweet disposition and kindness in her eyes that Hermione knew to be Neville’s. 

“I was hoping I could help you, actually.” A knowing smile worked its way over her lips, and she entered with a stack of several tomes. “Dorcas told me about your project and I can’t tell you how much it will help around here. You know,” she paused, still holding a precarious pile of books and staring at the bare walls, “Frank used to dabble as a potioneer. He was quite the scholar.” Hermione bit back a laugh remembering a dozen exploding cauldrons at the hand of their son. “He used to hole himself up for hours in this room, but with everything going on there hasn’t been much time.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione offered lamely. “Has there been any help with the Muggle attacks that you brought up a few weeks ago?”

Alice hummed, finally dropping the books on the lab table. “They seem to have slowed, but I’m not sure that it’s necessarily a good sign. The holidays are approaching and even Death Eater scum have families.” Shaking her head, a few strands of her short hair worked their way free, and she quickly tucked them away again behind her ear and fixed a smile on her face. “Anyway, I’ve brought you some resources that weren’t in the library if you’d like them. Potions was never my strong suit, so I’ll not be of help there, but these might be of use.” 

“Did you have a favourite course?” Hermione asked, brushing off her palms and leaning against the long table with her hip. 

“Herbology, actually. Hence my visit and the books.” The blood drained from Hermione’s face as Alice flipped the top book open. “I’d heard you were hoping to harvest and thought these might be of help. This one here might be of particular use…” Alice’s gaze flickered up to Hermione’s and she sobered. “Are you okay?”

The words stuck painfully to the sides of Hermione’s throat, and she could do little more than nod. 

“Well,” Alice said with a shrug, “I’ll have some time next week—I’m off Wednesday morning—if you’d like to go on a bit of a hunt. I’m happy to help when I can. _Not_ with the potions—no, definitely not.” Chuckling, Alice Longbottom turned towards her, and the kindness on her face lanced through Hermione. 

“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much. Just let me know the time and place.” 

“Brilliant! Well, I’ll leave you to it and we’ll make plans for next week. Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty and eat a full breakfast—harvesting is hard work.” Without another word, only a friendly nod as a way of goodbye, Alice disappeared the way she came, leaving Hermione with a water-logged gaze and a palm splayed reverently over the stack of tomes, feeling as though they were somehow a tether to her friend all those years from now. 

xXx

“Let’s go in,” Marley called out over the throngs of people, jerking her head towards the pop-up store that had opened due to the impending holiday. 

_Christmas._

A Christmas without her parents and friends—without the Burrow or Hogwarts—seemed impossible. Staring at the lights of Diagon Alley and trailing behind her friends, she found herself lost in thought. 

“I hate this time of year,” Remus interrupted, suddenly at her side. He wasn’t wearing a winter cloak, just an extra moth-eaten sweater, and his hands were shoved deep in his trouser pockets. 

Hermione’s brow inched up towards her hairline, eyeing him sideways. “What part?”

“Makes everyone so bleeding happy,” Remus groaned, rolling his eyes. “Marlene McKinnon hates almost everything, but Christmas rolls around and she turns into a bleeding snow elf. Also, the music. It’s mind-numbing.” 

Giggling, Hermione shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m much a fan of it myself. I used to be— _before._ ” 

Sporting a sad smile, Remus nodded. “Me too. Come on.” Remus walked on, holding the door to the shop open for her and with a reluctant sigh, she entered. 

The entire store looked like an even more frenzied and wildly decorated version of Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes. Wrinkling her nose at the snow falling around them, she worked her way further into the store, sidestepping the Christmas trees jutting out into the path heavily decorated with varying sizes and colours of baubles. 

Peter stood with Sirius and Marlene near a table of dancing elves in Christmas hats and scarves, laughing at the way they jiggled and danced. Rounding the corner, Hermione found a white tree made entirely of glowing stars and a set of four trees in the back decorated for each house at Hogwarts. Stepping up to the Gryffindor one, she smiled at the lion ornaments and red and gold garlands; even the lights alternated between the house colours. 

“There you are,” James crooned from behind her. When she turned she found him standing proudly, a Cheshire grin on his full lips. 

Rolling her eyes, she turned back towards the tree. “Hello, James. You know I just saw you in the alley, yes?”

“Yes, but the alley wasn’t conspiring to bring us together like this shop is.”

“And _how_ is this shop trying to bring us together?” She tried to keep from smiling, truly she did, but she found it to be a fruitless operation when James Potter was around. He was as charming as he was infuriating. 

Taking a step up, he nudged her with his elbow and pointed up towards the ceiling. She followed, looking up to see a full sprig of mistletoe hanging above their heads. “You charmed it,” she deadpanned, turning decidedly away from him. 

_“I would never!”_ he managed, choking on laughter as he clutched at his chest like she’d just hexed the bugger. “I’m not even sure I possess the magical prowess, truth be told. And besides—” He sniffed, turning to regard the Slytherin tree with a disdainful turn of his mouth, “I told you, I’m done bothering you. I merely wanted to let you know that you are currently stuck until someone comes along and saves you from your plight.” 

“Is that so?” she pressed, brow arched. “And I suppose you’re just the bloke to do it?” 

Pulling a playful face, he canted his head back and forth a few times. _“Well,_ I could certainly be convinced, at any rate.” 

“James Potter, if I kiss you, the entire future of the Wizarding World would be at risk. Is that what you want?” At that, she turned towards him, fighting a smile at the dopey expression he was sporting. 

“I’m a completely selfish git. Have you not learned that yet?” 

Pressing her lips together to keep from laughing, she couldn’t help but be charmed by the tenacity of the wizard. “Lucky for us both, I am not.” 

“Ah, lucky, indeed.” James’ eyes sparkled with knowing mischief. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, how on earth are you going to get yourself out of this kerfuffle? You are well and truly trapped.” 

Hermione turned to face him, her gaze falling from his eyes to his beautiful lips as the air between them shifted and then stilled. Attempting to take a step, she found her feet rooted to the ground and her eyes narrowed. Stupid mistletoe. 

Well, it seemed she was about to kiss James Potter. With a sigh and a shrug, she acquiesced, ignoring the fevered blush climbing up her throat. 

A smirk formed instantly, his dimples appearing from nowhere. James smugness rubbed against her like an annoying cat but she found herself powerless in the wake of it. Lifting his large hands, he settled them on the tops of her arms, fingers curling around her and Merlin fuck-it-all, but her breath hitched as he leaned towards her. She refused to move, refused to even rock up on her toes because for the very first time, the realisation that she _wanted_ to kiss him slammed into her and it was painful and tragic and utterly beautiful all at once. 

Pausing, his lips hovering just a warm breath over hers, his smirk widened and a grin took its place. Powerless, her eyes fluttered closed, bracing for impact. This would be her third first kiss and the first two were rather lackluster, if she was being honest, but there was no doubt in her mind that _this one_ would not be. How could it be?

But the kiss didn’t come; his hands tightened for a fraction of a second and he shifted, his lips brushing against her cheekbone and sending a shiver dancing down her spine. One hand left her arms and curled around the base of her skull, cradling her like she was precious to him. A gasp slipped between her lips and suddenly his breath was fanning over her ear, tickling her curls. “The first time I kiss you won’t be because of any damned mistletoe, love.” He pulled back, hand still buried in her curls, and her eyes snapped open. “It’ll be because you want it as badly as I do.” 

A shuddering breath escaped her as his hand fell away. 

“Oi! Love birds!” Sirius shouted, tearing them both from a moment that had felt incredibly private. “You quite done? I need a pint.” 

“Pint, Hermione?” James didn’t wait for an answer, he simply winked and turned for the rest of the group. 

Filling her lungs and fighting a swoon, she took a step, freezing when her eyes landed on Lily at the end of the aisle, staring at a bauble with great concentration. Guilt tangled in Hermione’s throat, and she beelined for the other witch, ready to apologise for even the brief thought of kissing her future husband—not that Lily knew as much yet. 

But as she approached her, Lily didn’t so much as flinch, didn’t even acknowledge her arrival in the slightest. With a confused pout, Hermione followed the other witch’s gaze to the small ornament in her hand: a fat cherub swathed in linen. 

“Um, Lily?” 

Blinking a few times, Lily turned, her emerald eyes blown wide and misty. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

Something felt decidedly off and instinctually, Hermione reached out to rest a hand on her elbow. “Are you okay?”

The haze that had seemed to shroud Lily lifted, and she swiped under her lashes and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Sorry, just a bit tired, I think. Where’s everyone?”

Hermione couldn’t place it, but the sinking feeling in her stomach couldn’t be quieted. “They’ve gone to the Leaky for a pint. Do you want to go? I can head back with you if you prefer.” 

Shaking her head, Lily blinked hard a few times, forcing a smile on her face. “No, you go on... I need a nap I think. I’ll see you back at the flat?”

It didn’t feel right, but Hermione couldn’t help feeling like she was intruding. “If you’re sure…” 

“Absolutely.” As Lily turned, a tear slipped free from the corner of her eye and she quickly banished it with the back of her hand before disappearing into the madness of the shop. 

Something ill twisted in Hermione’s belly, and she couldn’t place it. But logically there was more than one reason that Lily Evans might be freaking out; clearly the endless pining of Remus Lupin was having a toll on her, the mounting attacks of Muggles and the worry she must be feeling for her family. Leaving the shop, Hermione chewed over it, sure she was missing something, stopping only when she found her friends waiting in the alley huddled together. 

“Coming, Hermione?” Peter noticed her first, the rest of them turning to look at her. 

“I just need to pop over to the apothecary. Meet you in a minute!” Most of them walked on; only James lingered, his eyes intent on her and a smile playing on his lips. 

Ignoring his ever-present stare, she tugged her jacket firmly around her and trudged to the northern part of the alley. Her mind wandered, lost in time and space and the normalcy of Diagon Alley at Christmas time. The sounds and smells transcended the decades, and her worries waned, if only for a few minutes of much-welcomed respite. 

Stopping in front of a dusty little awning with a steaming cauldron and the ever-creative shop name of APOTHECARY emblazoned on the front, Hermione stared up at it with a pinched expression. It, too, hadn’t changed. Inside, the store was a bit dusty, the walls cluttered with various potions, cauldrons, vials, and ingredients. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their organization which led Hermione to the counter and the wizard with smudged glasses and a smattering of grey hair left on his head. 

“Hello, Mr. Hunt.” 

“Miss Granger, back again so soon?” His voice was tired and croaky after boasting too many years in customer service but his friendly smile remained unwavering. 

“Well,” she started, stomping the residual snow from her boots and shaking her curls free from her scarf, “I was hoping to make a special order. Can you set aside Aconite that’s been harvested during the full moon?” 

Chuckling to himself, he pulled a giant register from under the counter and flipped it open. “Sure makes the brewing a bit easier, don’t it?” 

Hermione smiled weakly and stepped up to the counter, pulling free her satchel of charmed galleons, ready to hand them off. “Is it okay if I owl the rest of my order? I am hoping to harvest some ingredients myself and whatever I don’t find, I’d like to have ready for pickup with the Aconite in a few weeks.” 

Humming to himself, Mr. Hunt licked the end of his quill and peered over his glasses to make notes in his log, the scratching causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand. When he’d concluded, he closed the book and smiled fondly at her. “You’re all set.”

“How much do I owe you, then?” she asked, loosening her purse strings. 

Confusion wrinkled Mr. Hunt’s brow as he peered strangely back at her. “Mr. Potter stopped in and instructed I charge his Gringotts account.” 

Hermione blinked. Then again. “Sorry, what?” No one knew Hermione was even brewing Wolfsbane outside of a specific few, and she quickly shook her head and began muttering, “No, I can’t allow—”

“He was quite insistent, Miss Granger. He’s also already paid one hundred galleons as a retainer and then supplied his information for any future purchases.” 

Clenching her eyes shut, Hermione forcibly gripped her coin purse in her palm and focused on her breathing. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt. I’ll speak to _Mr._ Potter.” She said the title like it’d been dipped in vinegar and then forced a polite goodbye and thanks to the shopkeeper before marching towards the Leaky with renewed anger for the meddling git. 

She crossed the alley in record time and hunted the crowded pub for the source of her ire. There, near the fireplace in the back, was a table of Marauders and Marlene, all completely at ease and laughing over a round of pints. Her gaze narrowed contemptuously at the sight of them. Sirius had his arm draped across Marlene’s chair and next to James sat an empty chair, his arm mirroring Sirius’. Grumbling to herself, she wound through the throngs of people and stopped abruptly in front of them. 

“James, can I speak to you a minute?” Hermione managed through a tight jaw. The table fell quiet, Sirius smirking into his pint while the rest of their gazes flickered between the pair of them. 

“Bit busy, love. Care for a drink?” James ignored her request, lifting a hand to the barkeep and gesturing for another round for the table even though their drinks were only half drunk. 

Bristling, Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I really have to insist.” She didn’t wait for him to respond, instead marching for an unoccupied corner and assuming he’d follow. Luckily, she was correct and heard him muttering his pardons and the shuffle of his feet behind her. With her back firmly in the corner, her lips pursed in unbridled annoyance, she waited for him. 

But, as should have been expected, he arrived with a grin and cornered her, his palms coming up to rest on either side of her face as he caged her in. “Finally ready for that snog, love?”

“You know that’s not it, James. I’ve just come from the apothecary and _apparently_ , you’ve taken it upon yourself to—”

“Pay for supplies for the Order and for Remus’ Wolfsbane.” He spoke plainly, his hands falling away from the wall and his brows inching high on his forehead. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Huffing, Hermione straightened her spine and attempted to grasp for a thought. “Well, yes, actually. You’ve no right to—”

“More right than you, if I say so myself. I’ve been in the Order longer, known Remus _far_ longer, and have more money than you do.” 

Her jaw fell open at the assumption. “You don’t know that.” He was, indeed, right, but she’d be damned if she let him think as such. “I didn’t come here as a pauper, I’ll have you know.” 

James ran a hand through his unruly hair; having abandoned his coat, the inside of his bicep was displayed, the tiny red phoenix sitting proudly. “I _do_ know that and besides, this isn’t for you, alright? It’s for the Order and for Moony. End of.” The muscles of his jaw flexed. 

Sniffing, she attempted one last stand. “Well, I can afford the ingredients, and I don’t need your help.” 

“It’s not for you, as stated, and regardless if you _need_ the help, could you take it anyway? That’s how we operate here; we’re a team, a unit. Just because you _can_ do something alone doesn’t mean you have to.” Something burned in his hazel eyes and she couldn’t help but melt for it, her resolve shattering and crumbling to her feet. He was right. It was a lesson Hermione Granger was sick of learning, and truthfully, doing everything alone got exhausting—and lonely. 

Licking her lips and squaring her shoulders, she raised her chin infinitesimally. “Fine, then. Thank you, I suppose.” 

“No thanks necessary; it’s not for you. How many times do I have to tell you that?” Whatever had been burning so fiercely inside him quieted, and he grinned at her. “Now, about our snog—” 

Groaning, Hermione rolled her eyes and placed a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him away as she retreated back into the flurry of the Leaky and two empty chairs waiting for them. 

xXx

**A/N: As your lovely theories begin trickling in it’s becoming increasingly hard not to spill all my beans lol I am so excited about sharing it with you and your reviews and thoughts make my day! Thanks for always being so wonderful!**

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**A huge thanks to my alpha’s: Ravenslight and MCal for all their time on this piece and of course to my wonderful beta! She’s started a WIP that a dramionarry and I’ve had the pleasure of alpha’ing it! GUYS ITS SO GOOD! It’s got mystery and romance and two hot dudes. Please go and read and review, she deserves all the love for this incredible piece.[read here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392048/chapters/56056039)**

**I’ll be back soon my lovely friends! Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

December 1979

South England

“Do you see this here?” Alice asked, dragging the pad of her thumb across a broadleaf. “The size of the leaf? The larger in size and quantity, the older the plant. This one,” she paused, reaching underneath the stalk and revealing a smaller plant, “still has a ways to go yet. It’s best not to pluck them when they’re young. They won’t be as strong in your batches; it also wipes out the possibility of those plants ever strengthening.” 

Hermione hummed in agreement, studying the plant closely and then jotting down notes in her journal. 

“You’ll usually find winterberries on shrubs in full sun like this one here. And over here...” Alice heaved a laboured breath and rose to stand, taking the few steps to kneel once again. “This is catmint. It’s resilient as all hell, so in winter months you’ll still be able to find it. It’s a poor substitute for lavender, but in some draughts it might do the trick.” 

Alice paused at that, smirking sideways at Hermione before continuing. “You might want to double-check with Frank on that, actually. He’d flay me if he knew I was advising on swapping out potion ingredients all willy-nilly.” Laying a reverent hand on the thick trunk of the tree towering over them, Alice seemed to sag. “Do you mind if we sit a moment? I’m more exhausted than ever these days.” 

“Oh,” Hermione blinked, closing her notebook. “Of course that’s fine.” 

The witch seemed wholly uncaring of the cold winter earth beneath her bum as she fell in a heap at the base of the tree. Wrinkling her nose, Hermione followed suit, wincing at the chill racing up her spine.

“Are you feeling alright? Working too hard?” Hermione asked idly, plucking at the dying grass under her legs. 

A wry chuckle slipped from the Auror’s lips, and she nodded. “Always, I’m afraid. I can’t seem to kick this fatigue though no matter how much I rest. Doesn’t help that there was another attack last night in North London.” The sparkle that was almost always present in Alice Longbottom’s eyes vanished. “The worst part is, Muggles have no idea what’s going on; to them it’s a mindless crime spree. A townhome was destroyed, the neighbour of one of our Aurors. There’s no way it’s a coincidence, and it has the entire department spooked.”

“Are you and Frank going to be safe? Is there anything that can be done?”

Alice huffed, a smile broad on her face. “Do you know Frank’s parents?” Hermione shook her head. “Well, Augusta Longbottom is nothing if not a force to be reckoned with; Longbottom Hall has been warded ten ways to Sunday.” 

“Where are they?” Hermione asked, shifting uncomfortably where she sat. 

“Frank’s parents? They’re at their home in Scotland. They’re not ones to be involved in what the Order has going on but they fund a lot of our operations, not to mention offering their estate for us to use as headquarters. They’re good people, just… Well, let’s just say you won’t find them wand drawn, flying into battle.” 

Hermione nodded, otherwise remaining silent. From the corner of her eye, she saw Alice bring her fingers up to her lips, wincing and shaking her head as though she were about to lose her breakfast. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Why don’t we head back?”

Swallowing hard, the other witch shook her head, her fingers still hovering over her mouth. “Maybe in a moment. There must be a bug going around—you know how it is during these months. Anyway,” with a resolute huff, Alice climbed to her feet and held a hand out for Hermione, “Let’s gather what we can, and we’ll see if we can’t find any goosegrass down by the edge of the forest—they tend to enjoy a bit more sunshine.” 

That feeling returned, the one that Hermione knew she ought to be listening to, but instead of insisting that they return, she simply followed after, making more notes and harvesting as much as they could find. 

xXx

The flat was filled with tinkling festive music; Marley could simply not be contained. The main room—which had been really quite bare from any sort of decor—had exploded since December 1st arrived, and the entire place had succumbed to holiday cheer. It was, truthfully, rather surprising that Marley was the one to spearhead the plans but as the days wore on, Hermione saw less and less of Lily. 

However, with only a handful of days until Christmas, Marlene had forcibly removed Lily from her room and into the front room where the three of them sat on the same couch, staring at the twinkling tree and its many baubles. A glittering star sat proudly on its top and Hermione couldn’t help but think it was all so positively Muggle. 

Marlene had gone so far as to make them each a mug of spiked hot chocolate, charmed to the perfect temperature, and while Hermione and Lily demurely sipped on hers, she noted that Marley was already on her second. 

“Do you have any Christmas traditions, Hermione?” Marley asked, her head rolling to the side and her eyes glazed with too much of that minty liquor she’d doused all their drinks in. She didn’t wait for Hermione to answer, instead launching into her own anecdote.“My grandmum always makes a roast and her and my mum _always_ fight. My little brother is such a knob, and he’ll usually pull some ridiculous prank—most likely one learned from Sirius—and set the entire night into a tizzy.” She chuckled to herself, lost in a memory. “But at night, after all the presents and dinner and fighting, we always sit and watch the fire and the lights awhile. Dad falls asleep in his armchair and Mum gets a bit too drunk—but it’s lovely really.” 

Hermione smiled at her friend, genuine happiness unfurling in her chest at the image she’d described. “Well, my dad—” The words stuck painfully in her chest, and she cleared her throat just to lodge them free. “He always reads the Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve, and we’d go carolling some years with my parent’s friends. We bake cookies and leave them out for Father Christmas even though I was far too old to believe in such things… and my mum always filled my stocking while dad ate the cookies.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Marley said with a sleepy smile. “I’m sorry you can’t be with them this year. What do you think they’re doing?” 

Hermione’s gaze went hazy, hurt etching deeply into her brow at the thought. “It’s hard to know, really. Time travel is all a bit outside of my scope of understanding.” Taking a long sip of her hot chocolate, feeling the buzz of alcohol fluttering between her ears, Hermione felt her tongue loosen as she let go of a little bit of her history. “In the war I’m coming from the attacks were escalating and I’m—well, not to say _I’m_ someone important,” she paused to laugh and wrinkle her nose, “but I’m very close to someone who is. Last year, there were things happening we couldn’t control. I obliviated my parents and sent them to live somewhere safe.” 

That caught even Lily’s attention, and she shot upright from where she’d been curled in the corner of the couch. “You did _what?”_

“They weren’t just targeting us. They were going after families. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to them because of what I am.” Hermione’s brow furrowed in consternation. “But, if we’re successful, and maybe even if we’re not, then life will change for them. The second war won’t have happened at all, and we might all still be together.”

Lily’s jaw fell open and even Marlene seemed utterly bewildered as she said, “Why wouldn’t you just tell them what’s going on and send them off until after?”

Hermione had spent a good portion of the summer with her parents before sending them away and there were at least a hundred times she thought about being honest. But her parents loved her more than anything else, and they would not have gone and left her there to fight a war. And at the end of the day, Hermione couldn’t leave Harry and Ron.

So the choice, while impossible, was also the easiest she’d ever made. In the end, it had only ever been about their safety. 

It all felt too heavy to say here, and she simply shook her head and smiled. “It’s complicated… Anyway, enough about me. Lily, did your family have any traditions?”

Shifting in her seat, the witch in question seemed to be blanketed in discomfort. “Much the same as you, Hermione. We’re Muggles after all. It’s been a bit tense these last few years. My sister married this absolute git, and I’ve just heard they’re expecting—Merlin, help that child. My sister and her husband will be absolutely insufferable.” 

Marlene laughed at that and added her agreement before startling in her seat and whipping her head toward Hermione. “Do you want to come home with me? I’ll be leaving Christmas Eve, and I know my parents would be happy to have you!”

“The offer stands with my family as well,” Lily added. “If you want to suffer through the painstaking process of Vernon-bleeding-Dudley waffle about drill bits and other such nonsense.” The red-haired witch gave an exaggerated shiver and grimaced. 

Hermione chuckled quietly and cradled her cup a little closer. “Thank you both, truly. You should enjoy the time with your family. Molly said she’s putting on a bit of a Christmas dinner at headquarters so I’ll go there with the rest of the orphans.” 

Marley’s mouth twisted and she playfully pushed Hermione’s legs. “Well, if you change your mind and don’t want to spend the day with those insufferable twits we call friends, the offer is yours.” 

Warmth bloomed deep in Hermione’s chest and she couldn’t name the emotion, but she knew it well. It’d been present at all those times in her life when she’d been with her nearest and truest friends, it felt the fire in the Gryffindor common room and Christmas morning. 

xXx

A yawn tore through Hermione as she adjusted the Wolfsbane in the window sill. Twelve counter turns in the waxing moon and the draught ought to turn into a lovely shade of indigo. _Please let it turn_ , she silently begged the universe.

As she finished, she sat next to the cauldron, watching the contents swirl and darken. She’d need to deliver the potion soon; the full moon was on the third of January and she’d need to make sure he had it the full week before. Behind her there was a soft knock on the door, and she turned to find Alice and Frank standing there. 

“Hermione? Just checking to make sure your potion was coming along alright.” Frank’s arm was draped around his wife’s shoulders, both of them sporting matching sleepy smiles. Upon closer inspection, she could see the deep purple shadows under Frank’s eyes and the way Alice’s cheeks seemed to be missing their normal rosy hue; her skin seemed sallow and sickly. They were clearly working themselves into exhaustion. 

“I think so,” she said sheepishly. “Would you check the colour for me? Just want to be sure…” 

Frank dipped his chin and entered his old potions room, approaching the cauldron with a squint. He was tall; she could see where Neville got his growth spurt from. He smiled back at her and nodded. “It’s perfect; we’ll make a potions master of you yet.” 

A laugh bubbled from her, and she shook her head. “I don’t know about that. So, tomorrow I can separate into vials and it will be good to deliver?” 

“Yes, I do believe so. Remus will be grateful, even if he’s a bit of a knob when accepting help.” Frank’s throaty chuckle filled the air, and he patted her once on the shoulder before returning to Alice’s side. “We’re off to bed.”

“Will we see you for Christmas?” Alice asked. 

Hermione nodded, smiling down at the indigo concoction. 

xXx

“Last chance, Hermione! You sure you won’t come with us?” Her friends stood by the Floo, bags in hand. 

Hermione was tucked into the corner of the couch, dozing in the dim light of late morning. “You two enjoy your holiday! I’ll see you in a few days.” 

Sharing one final look, Marley and Lily shrugged and disappeared into the green flames, leaving Hermione alone with an open tome on her lap, watching the snow drift lazily towards the earth. She’d almost changed her mind and gone with one of them but she wasn’t sure if she’d fare well being thrust into the happiness of another family. This holiday felt rather sombre, and she wanted to be left alone to wallow in peace. 

Staring mindlessly at the pages before her, it wasn’t long until she’d succumbed to an afternoon snooze and woke only when she felt an unfamiliar dip in the couch. Jerking awake, eyes wild and rubbing the crick in her neck, her gaze settled on James Potter, resting in the opposite corner of the couch with her feet in his lap. 

“James?” She blinked several times to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. “You scared me half to death. What time is it?” 

“Half-four.” His large hand rested on her ankles, his thumb brushing back and forth. 

Narrowing her gaze at the intimate touch, she kicked lightly at him and sat up. “What are you doing here?”

“Come to collect you, love. Remus and Peter are securing the takeaway, Sirius is getting the alcohol, and I’m getting you.” 

“Sorry, for what, _exactly?”_

A mischievous grin spread over his lips, his teeth gleaming in the low light. “It’s a surprise. Marauder tradition.” 

“I’m not a Marauder,” she corrected, a yawn climbing up her throat as she stretched her arms up high over her head. When she opened her eyes, James was staring intently at her torso, and when she followed his gaze, found that her shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of skin. Biting back a laugh she kicked at him again and fixed her shirt. 

_“Honorary_ Marauder. It’s already been decided. Now come on! A night of debauchery awaits!”

xXx

She wasn’t going to go—really, she wasn’t. But she did need to deliver Remus’ potions, and James was rather annoying if he didn’t get what he wanted. And that was the sordid tale of how she found herself standing in a scantily decorated room with too many boys. 

A warm hand came up to rest on the small of her back, and James was suddenly at her side. Hitching a breath, she looked up at him with a worried brow. “We’ll have a few drinks and be on our way.” 

“Well, that doesn't seem like a very good idea at all. Are you going to fill me in on the details of the evening?” 

Sirius approached then, sporting a crooked smile and his worn leather jacket, holding out a glass of that lethal punch she’d succumbed to almost two months ago now at his birthday. “Trust me, kitten. You’re going to want to be drunk for the rest of the evening.” 

Hermione groaned but had learned well enough in the past weeks that it was probably best to just go with it. As she took a healthy drink of the delicious concoction, she allowed her resolve to crumble. 

Both boys beamed at her and excused themselves to ‘prepare for the night ahead’, whatever that meant. With an almost sheepish smile, she approached Peter and Remus talking quietly next to a mostly bare Christmas tree with a sad little star sitting on its head. 

“Remus?” Both boys turned, and she swore she could hear the slamming of her heart against her ribs. “Could I…” she paused, lips folding in awkwardly. “Could we maybe talk for a moment? Outside?”

Peter smiled, friendly enough, and clapped a hand on Remus’ shoulder. The two made their way out into the backyard. It was small, with nothing much of note, and after a few feet, it gave way to a thick forest. She’d never gone exploring but from the safety of the back porch, she realised it was probably where the Marauders went for their monthly runs. 

“Something on your mind, Hermione?”

Startling, Hermione smiled weakly and reached into her bag. “I have something for you.” 

The tension between them rose palpably, and Remus began shuffling uncomfortably. “Like a present? I hadn’t realised—” 

Laughing to herself, Hermione shook her head and retrieved a small velvet satchel. “No, not a Christmas present or anything. Just something for you.” 

With a worried brow, he pulled it open and lifted a single vial from its confines. A low expletive sounded from his lips, and he shoved the vial back inside and pushed it back towards her. “I can’t accept this.” 

“What? Of course you can.” 

“Hermione, this satchel here is worth a small fortune and,” even in the darkness she could see his cheeks darken, his brows knitting impossibly closer, “I don’t have the money to pay you for it.” 

“I don’t want money. I brewed it myself, under the watchful instruction of Frank, so it most likely won’t kill you, though I make no guarantees.” She nudged him with her elbow and turned to brace one hand on the bannister of the porch, sipping again on her punch. The silence was fraught with tension, and she thought maybe if she just let go a little more… “I know I told you that you were my Professor in the future, but you come to mean a lot more to us all than that. Me and my friends—you save us. You show up when we need you, no questions asked. This is the absolute least I can do.” 

Remus listened in rapture, turning to lean against the same bannister she was touching. “Well, you’re only eighteen, Hermione. How much trouble could you have gotten into yet?”

A bark of laughter escaped her, echoing into the night air, and a tear she hadn’t been expecting traced down her cheek. “You’ve really no idea,” she whispers, mostly for her own sake. “And the potion isn’t negotiable. I can make it in my downtime and the ingredients have already been secured.” 

Snorting, Remus rolled his head towards her. “Nearly thirty galleons of ingredients supplied? By who?” 

There was a burning in the back of her head, the weight of a stare she knew would be James, and she bit back a smile, shaking her head. “Even I have my secrets, it seems.” 

Remus hummed, closing his fist around the velvet satchel. “Well, I don’t like it but, this is,” he paused to clear his throat, “very kind of you. Thank you, Hermione.” 

With a firm nod, she turned to match his stance. “You’re most welcome. You can repay me by telling me what on earth you lot have planned for tonight?”

A wide wolfish grin broke over his face, and he scratched idly at the stubble covering his jaw. “Ah, _even I have my secrets,_ ” he repeated back to her with a smile. “Besides, if you’ve gotten in as much trouble as you sound like you have, this will be nothing at all.” 

They shared a laugh, and Hermione kicked off the railing to make her way back inside, halting when he called out for her again. 

“I hate to ask…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “But has Lily seemed a bit off to you?”

Chewing on her cheek, Hermione thought back to the weeks prior, noting nothing really out of the ordinary at all. “I don’t think so—” But another memory, one of her tearing up in the Christmas shoppe floated to the front of her mind, and she winced. “Maybe. A bit? I’m afraid I don’t know her all that well, so it’s hard to say.” 

“Right.” Remus sniffed, bobbing his head. “Well if you notice anything would you let me know?”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed quickly, already mentally cataloguing the events of weeks past. 

xXx

She’d been somehow coerced into another glass of punch and a shot of firewhisky. They’d glamoured her clothes to all black, and James had brushed up against her and smudged black gunk under her eyes. 

“Ready, love?” James winked. 

“How on earth could I be ready when you’ve done nothing but get me drunk and dress me for a knicker-raid?”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“A knicker-raid.” 

Sirius clapped his hands loudly in their ear, and the two of them jumped apart. Why was it that she was always able to get so utterly lost where James was involved. “You two! This is a serious night, and I need your full attention. Is everyone fully stocked?” 

James nodded, his face drawn in concentration. “Ready to go. Where first?” 

“We’ll start with Spinner’s End. Creepy bloke won’t be expecting us this early on—bet he’s at a fucking Death Eater rally anyway.” Sirius lofted a large duffle bag on his shoulder and marched for the front door. Peter trailed after, sporting a playful smile and a shrug. Remus was next, baring his teeth uncomfortably but following suit. 

James turned, grinning wildly and jerking his chin for her to come along. 

“Oh, bugger,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes and trudging towards the door. 

xXx

The quiet had never felt so oppressive as it did hiding in the alley outside of a place the boys scornfully referred to as Spinner’s End. They talked in hushed voices as Sirius dropped the bag to the ground and the boys crowded over its contents. Turning, Peter eyed her carefully. 

“Repeat after me, Hermione: _Acta Diurna.”_

Suddenly her nerves overtook her, and her knees began to tremble and knock together. _“Acta Diurna?_ Someone needs to tell me exactly what’s going on. What is Spinner’s End? Why do I look like I’m about to raid Gringotts.” 

Sirius jumped to his feet, pulling a face. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’d never storm Gringotts through the front door, although Remus did come up with a rather plausible idea once.” 

James rose, pushing two cardboard cartons in her hands. “Don’t use these until we give you the word. Yeah?” 

Panic coursed through her limbs and with shaking fingers she lifted the latch. _“Eggs?”_

“Let’s go!” Sirius whisper-shouted, knocking his head back and howling up at the sky. 

For absolutely no reason at all, Hermione followed after them, clinging to the shadows of a row of townhomes. She should have asked more questions—so many more questions. They stopped in front of a dingy little place, the shutters broken and stained, and the brick so dark it appeared black. 

There was a tittering laugh through the group, and the Marauders fell back, their wands lofted at the face of the quiet home. In quiet succession, they muttered the spell Peter had told her earlier, and thin white strips of magic shot from the ends of their wands, covering the lone tree in front of the house, and pitching over the roof. 

Some of her nerves quieted, curiosity settling in as she edged behind them. “Is that…” she paused, chin ticking to the side. “Is that toilet tissue?”

“Like I said, love,” James said over his shoulder, “Marauder tradition.” 

Dread sank in her belly, knowing full well the answer to the next question. “Whose house is this?” 

Remus turned then, his wand dropping a bit and shooting over the stoop. “I wouldn’t do this to just anyone, I swear it. But Snivellus was a real twat back in the day…” 

The blood drained from her cheeks. “Oh my gods. Please say this isn’t Professor Snape’s house?” 

_“Professor?!”_ The four of them dropped their wands, reeling on her as she shrank back. James was the only one to speak next. “Please tell me Severus doesn’t get to work with actual children.” 

“Why else would I be calling him Professor?” she deadpanned, before thinking better of it and clutching the eggs to her chest. “He is going to _kill_ us.” 

At that, they all scoffed and turned back for the house. “Not likely,” Peter added. “He’d have to catch us first, and that knob can barely walk in a straight line.” 

Hermione whimpered as the boys continued and after a few more quiet moments, the snow began falling slowly around them. Finally, when the house was nearly covered with loo tissue, they turned for her and gestured for the eggs. Shaking her head near violently, she held onto those cartons as if they were full of galleons. 

“No. _Nononono._ ”

“Stick with James, kitten. He’ll get you to the next location.” 

With wide horrified eyes, Hermione lost the eggs to greedy hands. “ _Next?!”_

Clenching her eyes shut, Hermoine tried to drown out the sound of eggs smashing into the side of Spinner’s End. She felt the sudden presence of James—knowing it was him before she’d peeked through her lashes at him. 

“Was Snape kind to you?” he asked, his hands resting on the tops of her shoulders. 

Hermione snorted. “Of course not.” 

“Was he prejudiced and kind of a twat to you?”

With a long sigh, she nodded. “Yes, okay? Yes. He was a complete and utter arse every year at Hogwarts and is positively bloody evil.” 

James snagged a single egg and grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief even in the darkness. “One egg. You’ll feel _so_ much better. And I’d hurry—we’re running out of time.” 

Over his shoulder, a light flickered on, and then another. Adrenaline pumped through her blood and with visions of Snape snarling at her, speaking to her as though she were beneath him for no reason whatsoever, and of his ridiculous proclivity to his own house whenever the opportunity arose. Snapping her arm back, she launched the egg towards the front door, gasping as said door opened, and yolk exploded over Snape’s chest. 

She choked out a disbelieving laugh as the other three boys disappeared with a _crack_ in columns of smoke and magic. A strong arm banded around her waist, turning her so she crashed into his chest. So quickly she barely had a chance to make sense of it, something draped over her head, and she was tugged back into the shadows. James’ freehand clamped over her mouth and she brought her own up to hold it in place, swallowing her laughter. 

As her guffaws died away, realisation dawned on her. James’ hand fell away, and she peeked up at him. Their chests were pressed together; his breath that smelled faintly of firewhisky and spearmint fanning over her face. There were questions rattling around her brain, begging to be voiced, but she couldn’t focus on more than the hard planes of his body and the way his fingers curled around her hip. 

Swallowing around the knot lodged in her throat, she bit out the first question she could muster. “Is this the invisibility cloak?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, brow furrowing. “How do you know about that?”

Jaw falling open, she was about to make some awkward half-answer when she was quieted by the sound of angry voices behind her. They turned, still pressed together as their breathing grew long and laboured at the scene unfolding before them. 

Snape was flinging yolk from his fingers, shouting into the night air as he descended the stairs with a scowl. Behind him more people emerged, faces Hermione knew well, and against her own volition she buried deeper into James’ embrace. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he said, reassuring her. “We’ll Apparate in just a moment when they’ve gone inside. They can’t see us.” 

A wild-haired witch came into view, standing in the dull yellow light of the streetlamp. She was followed by a delicate blonde with a similar nose and jawline, and a man Hermione would know anywhere, but especially with his long platinum locks and scowl. Several others joined, scouring the sidewalk, and it wasn’t until a small mousy boy emerged from the confines of Spinner’s End that James cursed under his breath, his fingers tightening almost painfully around her. 

Even from here, she could see the aristocratic lines of his nose and jaw; the shaggy black hair and the same deep-set eyes that his brother boasted. 

Regulus Black. 

Hermione’s gaze caught on Sirius’ corporeal Patronus tearing down the street, a shaggy black dog outlined in ethereal tendrils of blue magic. Its form stopped and sat at their feet, head cocked to the side. “Oi! Where are you? Stop dicking around.” 

“Goddamnit,” James hissed between clenched teeth. In tandem, the two of them turned to the gathered group of Death Eaters, who were now making their way towards where the two of them were hidden under the shroud of invisibility. “Hold tight; we’re leaving now.” 

Hands trembling, she wrapped her arms around his trim waist and rested her head on his chest. As the familiar pull of Apparition started, she peeked back at the group gathered in front of Snape’s house, their wands trained on the seemingly empty spot where they stood. 

**xXx**

**A/N: Hey all! Hope this finds you in good health :) Thanks so much for reading and joining me in another chapter! I know some of you — or most of you— are eager for answers. Over the next few chapters we will get some, and others are a ways off yet. I promise this is not a story full of angst and slow burn but time travel is a bit complicated, as I’m sure you’ve figured out.**

**I would love to know what you think! I am hard at work at more chapters. My outline keeps getting away from me but we are looking at definitely 50+ maybe pushing 75? Idk, my muse is in charge here not me lol**

**Thanks again for tagging along. Your support means so very much to me!**

**Largest shout outs to my alphabet, Ravenslight, MCal, and Nuclear Nik!**

**Be back in a few days. Stay safe!**


	11. Chapter 11

December 1979

Marauder House

She wasn’t sure where she expected they’d go, but it wasn’t back to the Marauder’s house. Ripping the invisibility cloak from their heads, James gripped her hand in his and tugged her into the house. She followed, rendered speechless by the quick turn of events. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, a bit breathless as they stumbled into the main room. 

Raking his hands in his hair, James made for the bottle of firewhisky on the counter. He stared at it for a long minute as if he were having some conversation with himself before he snorted and took a long swig. “Want some?” he sputtered, wincing from the inevitable burn. 

Hermione could do nothing but shake her head, and he nodded, chewing on his cheek. 

“Do you want to talk about it some? I might be able to help…” The offer felt a little lifeless and weak in the shadow of his ire, and she trailed off with a grimace. 

Snorting to himself and then taking another drink, he turned towards her, eyes dancing with his irritation. “Reggie is a fucking idiot.” 

Hermione considered it, waiting for James to continue and when he didn’t, she simply added, “Yes.” 

“Oh,” he huffed humorously, “glad that’s common knowledge even in the future.” Groaning, he paused and tilted his head up to the ceiling, cursing the universe under his breath. “Sirius is going to kill him.” 

Shrugging from his coat, James pulled his wand free, and in a swift motion, he cast the summoning spell on the phoenix on his bicep. Her own stayed dormant, and her fingers reached up idly to trace it. “I don’t feel it.” 

“Feel what?” His brow was pulled tight as he stowed his wand in his waistband. 

“The phoenix. Didn’t you summon them?”

“Oh.” Raking his hands through his hair, he took another long drink and shrugged. “Focus your thoughts on the person you’re summoning, like if you’re Apparating. If not, you’ll call everyone with the mark.” 

Hermione blinked twice, wondering why no one had mentioned such an important part of the spell before but was quickly dragged back to the moment at hand. “I thought he knew, didn’t he? Sirius knew Regulus was hanging out with those—well, with those types of people?”

“Yeah, he knew but tonight there were certain people in the crowd that pretty much nail his coffin shut. He’s been seen toting around with Malfoy and Goyle, but they’re still young and stupid. We were in school with them for a bit, and they—Malfoy in particular—really enjoy having lackeys. He’s the sort of bloke to let Reg carry his bags and open his doors for little more than a promise to pay him back someday. Fucking tosser.” 

Hermione gave a humourless chuckle and wrinkled her nose. Sounded awfully familiar. 

“But tonight,” James continued, “those are some high-up motherfuckers. Nott came out at the end, and how Moody hasn’t arrested that bloke, I’ll never know. Last week we got word that Bellatrix and Rodolphus were torturing Muggles in South London; Dolohov, Crabbe, Yaxley… They’re suspected of shite all over London.” 

This was the first she was hearing of those Death Eater rumblings and it made her belly twist in a sick knot. It was all too close to home. “They can’t find anything to pin them down? They can’t be the smartest lot; surely someone has made a mistake.” 

“You’d think,” he snorted. “But no— _nothing_. There are cracks somewhere in the Ministry; I just know it.” 

Names floated to the front of Hermione’s mind, but she didn’t dare speak them into existence. 

“Sirius is gonna be in some kind of mood; do you want me to get you back to the flat? Or headquarters?”

Thinking on it, Hermione felt something sink and settle in her chest. _It was time to tell them about Regulus._ “No,” she choked out as several cracks of Apparition sounded outside. “I think I need to talk to Sirius.” 

Some unknown emotion flickered across James’ face, but he said nothing as the rest of the Marauders burst through the door. All three of their faces morphed as soon as they took in James and Hermione. 

“Bugger, what happened?” Peter said, stepping forward and shrugging from his jacket. “You two looked like someone tried to kill your cat.” 

“Prongs?” Sirius said, his brow pulled low as if he could feel that the news was hurtling towards him. 

With a long breath, James offered the bottle to Sirius who took it gladly. Then, like a walk to the gallows, he replayed the moments following the abrupt exodus of the others. 

Splaying a hand over his mouth, Sirius’ eyes pinched closed. “You’re sure?” 

There was deep concern etched into the lines around his eyes, and even though he wasn’t yet twenty, he looked older at this moment. So much closer to the man she’d met her third year than the boy she’d come to know these past months. 

“Yeah,” James shared a look with Hermione before continuing, “it was him. I’m so sorry mate—” 

“Tell me again who was there.” Behind the eldest Black, Remus and Peter emerged with drinks, handing them out and then retiring to the chairs in the sitting area. 

James guided Hermione to the corner of the couch, where she slipped into the seat and he fell into the spot next to her, draping his arm over the back of the sofa. It ought to bother her, but instead it comforted her, like Crooks curling in her lap when she’d needed a good cry, and she tucked her toes under his thigh to warm them, ignoring the way it made him smile from the corner of his mouth. 

Again James recited the list of known Death Eaters and every name ticked off seemed to settle on Sirius’ shoulders until he fell in a heap onto the far side of the couch. 

“We’ve got to do something,” Sirius said in a low voice, almost as though it was a reassurance to none other than himself. “We’ll get him out and—”

“Sirius?” Hermione squeaked, cradling her drink in her hands and staring at it as though it were an intricate rune in desperate need of translating. “I need to tell you something about your brother.” 

The room stilled, and when she managed a look up, her gaze landed first on James who looked cautious at best; next, she saw Sirius, whose anger seemed to be rolling off in crashing waves. 

“I’ve never met him,” she said with a hard swallow, trying in vain to banish the chaos rioting inside her. 

Sirius snorted, palms raising passively towards the ceiling. “Okay?”

Filling her lungs with a fortifying breath, she forced the words into existence. “In 1998 he’s presumed dead.” 

Sirius’ hands tightened around the bottle of the nearly empty firewhisky, and her breath hitched as she continued, “Sometime in the year following Hogwarts—presumably in 1980—he officially joins You-Know-Who’s ranks.” 

Again the quiet stretched on, its long fingers reaching for her throat and pressing in until she wasn’t sure she could keep on. 

“Are you telling me my little brother is a presumed dead Death Eater?” Sirius snorted. “Won’t happen. Trust me, kitten; _I won’t let that happen._ ” The words slipped through his clenched jaw, and she felt a shiver of anxiety inch over her skin. 

“It’s complicated, but yes.” Surreptitiously, James’ hand came down on her shin, a silent reassurance that bolstered her resolve. “Next year, You-Know-Who begins to worry about the safety of his Horcruxes; he starts checking on them, ensuring their safety. During that time is going to be our best chance of finding them.” 

Sirius slammed the bottle of liquor on the coffee table and waved his hands wildly in front of him. “What in the fuck does this have to do with Reggie?”

“Easy, Padfoot…” James warned, and even Remus and Peter squirmed in the wake of the tension. 

“He’s _everything_ to do with it. One of the Horcruxes is a locket, an heirloom from the direct line of Salazar Slytherin. When the Dark Lord needs to check on it, he requests the use of Kreacher—” 

“And how do _you_ know about Kreacher?” Sirius snorted, and Hermione’s face settled into a flat, unamused expression. 

“I know Kreacher far better than I’d like, thank you very much. Now, You-Know-Who borrows Kreacher and Regulus allows this. From there, the details are sparse but Kreacher is left for dead in a cave by the sea. That cave is impenetrable by magical means of transportation but You-Know-Who didn’t consider that Kreacher had elfish magic. He was able to leave.” 

All the boys shared a confused, drawn out look; she sniffed and sat up straighter. “When Kreacher returned to Regulus, and Regulus learned about what had happened, he was furious. He turned; it’s presumed he’d been considering defection for some time but that was the final straw. Kreacher took him back to that cave, and your brother _stole_ the locket—the Horcrux—and replaced it with a fake and a note; a note my friend found nearly two decades later. The locket then goes into the Black family possession until it’s stolen by Mungdungus Fletcher in 1997.” 

“Okay, so if I’m following you, love,” James’ face pinched to one side, “we need to get into that cave.” 

“Precisely— _but_ , we can’t go too soon; if we do and the Horcrux isn’t there and Vol—” she paused, biting her tongue. “You-Know-Who finds out, he could move the rest of them. We _need_ Regulus to go deeper.” 

Sirius began wildly shaking his head, his lips folding into a tight, rigid line. “Absolutely not. _Absolutely-fucking-not._ We don’t send in my baby brother as bait—not fucking happening. I’ll do it my bloody self first.”

“Paddy,” Remus urged, “You know that’s not possible.” 

Sirius barked, a sneer marring his handsome face. “Right, because Reggie has _ever_ listened to anything we’ve bloody told him. What we need to do is kidnap the fucking twat and keep him tied up in the cellar until he sees reason.” 

Peter clucked his tongue. “Still leaves us without a Horcrux,” he said, settling back into his chair. “And with another ornery Black brother.” 

“You know I’ll fucking flay you, right? Shut up.” Sirius’ eyes were narrowed but his voice didn’t hold the bite that she knew him capable of. He turned to Hermione. “I can’t send my brother in deeper. I can’t. I have to put my foot down.”

Nervously, Hermione squirmed in her seat. She’d prepared for this moment but it didn’t make it any easier. “There’s a chance he’s already in—I think tonight furthers that possibility—and you don’t just _quit._ You-Know-Who doesn’t allow resignations; it’s why it’s suspected Regulus has a hard time defecting in the first place. I think we have a chance here—a chance to save your brother.” 

Sucking his cheek between his teeth, Sirius stared intently at her, his eyes nearly black in the low light. “When’s he supposed to go missing? When does everyone just presume my baby brother is dead?”

Hermione gulped, steeling her jaw. “That night in the cave when Regulus goes back, he hands the locket to Kreacher and orders him to leave him there. Kreacher couldn’t disobey. The cave is infested with Infieri, an army that You-Know-Who is creating right now in 1979. It’s presumed that since he was unable to Apparate, he didn’t make it out.” Tears welled in the fringes of her lashes, and a heaviness settled over her heart that she hadn’t been expecting. “Kreacher was distraught; he loved Regulus very much.” 

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, no shite. Kreacher would live in Reggie’s arsehole if Walburger would allow it.” 

Hermione’s voice turned impassioned, drenched in the belief that they could— _and would_ —change the future. “If we all go—if we can get into that cave with him when Regulus returns to steal the locket—then we can get him out. He’ll live. We can do it; I know we can.” 

“Bloody right we can,” Sirius said with a scowl. “After Christmas—I’ll get Reg here and you’ll tell him. You’ll tell him and we fix this and most importantly—I’m the one who destroys that fucking Horcrux that cost my brother his life.” 

Hermione nodded, settling back in and cradling her drink to her lips. She listened as the boys talked on about the events of the evening and plans for the future; she listened even as her eyes dipped closed. Vaguely, she listened as the boys asked if they ought to get her home and heard James decline, saying no one ought to wake up alone on Christmas. And as she drifted off, she felt a blanket draped over her and the dip of the couch as someone settled in, drawing her feet into their lap. 

xXx

**A/N: Sorry for the shorter chapter this time around friends but anything more would have felt a bit off. The next two chapters will be Christmas! And like the tropey hoe I am, Christmas will be… well, you’ll see ;)**

**Thanks for reading and for any reviews you feel up for leaving! I can’t tell you how much I look forward to posting day because your theories just give me life.**

**As always biggest thanks to my Alphabet team: Ravenslight, MCal, and NuclearNik. This would be rubbish without you!**

**Back soon! Mwah!**


	12. Chapter 12

December 1979

Marauder House

It was her eighteenth Christmas morning, and of all the different ways she’d woken on this particular holiday, this one had to be the strangest. 

For starters, it was—obviously—the year 1979; furthermore, her legs were draped over the lap of her best friend’s father. A blanket was tangled between her legs as she blinked awake, and she noticed the fire still burning low in the hearth and gently warming the room. 

As the haze of sleep drifted from the front of her mind, she couldn’t help but smile at the wizard curled in the opposite corner of the sofa. When his face wasn’t all twisted up in a smug smirk, he really was devastatingly handsome—well, he was always devastatingly handsome, truth be told—but she quite preferred him like this. 

His right arm was tucked behind his head, acting as a pillow, and his red phoenix was on display, etched into the valley of his muscle. Shifting, she scooted a bit closer, stealing some of these quiet moments of sleep, and without thought her fingers reached out to trace the lines of his tattoo. 

At the soft touch, his eyes fluttered open, gaze landing on hers. Normally, this would be the time when a cocky grin would work its way over his lips, and he’d wink and tack something stupid on the end. But his features remained open, his hazel eyes travelling over the dips and curve of her face, landing on her lips. 

_ Merlin, she wanted to kiss him. _

It seemed an experience she ought to have at least once. Even without ever having done it, she knew that sinking into his kiss would be like succumbing to his inevitable pull, finally giving up on fighting the current. 

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as flinch as she stared back at him, a silent war waging in her mind. 

“You stayed on the sofa?” she asked, her breath barely over a whisper. 

Folding his full lips inward he shrugged, a hint of a smirk playing just there on his lips. “Dozed off. You snore, by the way. Did you know?” 

The tension that had settled between them evaporated, and she poked at his ribs with a playful pout. “I do not. I’m sure it was you. You must be quite mistaken.” 

He laughed, and she could hear doors opening and faucets running as the Marauders woke. James reached down and shifted her so she was tucked into his side, his arm draped over her shoulders as he yawned loudly. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.” 

It was obvious she ought to slither back to the other side of the couch, to keep a safe distance from this wizard that she couldn’t help but be drawn to. But it was Christmas and she was lonely and he was warm. How many times had she found comfort and safety in the arms of her friends? That’s all this was. 

The lies were coming easier and easier, even if she barely believed them herself. 

xXx

Christmas Day at Longbottom Hall was full of strange and familiar memories: tiny Weasleys she knew from another life running around her legs; throaty laughs from grown twins playing pranks on their little sister; fireplaces roaring and cosy sofas. 

Molly looked nearly ready to burst from extreme pregnancy, though she swore she had two months left, and the apron tied around her middle stuck out comically as it draped over her belly.

As usual, the matriarch of the Weasley clan had spared not a single dish. The table was dressed with two turkeys and a beef roast, trays of roasted root vegetables and potatoes that smelled like rosemary and thyme, and bowls of fresh bread heaped high that Hermione feared at any moment might spill over onto the fine linen tablecloth. Smaller dishes boasted pigs-n-blankets, creamed peas, and bowls of cranberry sauce; towering stacked trays of mince pies and Yorkshire puddings sat on either end of the table, and the coup de grâce was the long table of Christmas puddings waiting to be devoured. 

At one point, she swore she saw Fred—or maybe it was George—sneak a biscuit and run off in search of his brother, but Hermione said nothing as she watched, laughing quietly at the complete and utter ridiculousness of the moment. 

Once seated to dinner, she’d found herself placed next to Alice and—begrudgingly—next to the Prewett twins. It wasn’t that Gideon and Fabian were all that awful, but their mischievousness put the younger twins to absolute and utter shame. 

Someone had the poor foresight to allow both sets of twins to sit in the same vicinity, and at one point Gideon was showing Fred how to load creamed peas onto his spoon, then how to launch the contents in the air. Just as they’d released the spoon’s cargo, Molly yelped and snapped her fingers, vanquishing it midair. 

Both boys pouted, sulking back into their seats. It was only a moment later when Gideon winked and promised retribution—as though a nearly three-year-old had any idea what he meant. 

Those at the table kept the conversation light, careful to sidestep any mention of the war or the tension mounting outside their carefully crafted bubble. Hermione herself took note to avoid thinking too long on anything that might temper the joy she felt. It was only in the quiet touches of Frank brushing his lips against his wife’s temple as she settled into the crook of his arm or Molly laughing brightly that Hermione felt that pang of things lost. 

After the pudding, most people returned home and Hermione felt the longing to do so too… but it wasn’t the flat she wanted to see. Shrugging on her jacket and securing her hat over her curls, she made her way onto the back lawn. 

Other than earlier in the morning, she’ d not spent much time with James or the Marauders; part of her hoped that  _ he’d _ follow. 

Standing with her boots buried in the snow, she let out a low sigh of relief as the back door opened. 

“You’ll freeze, love.” James came up to stand beside her, buttoning his jacket around him and eyeing her sidelong. “You do know there’s a perfectly good house behind you? Fire and walls and sofas perfect for snogging.” 

A laugh bubbled forward, and she elbowed him gently. Without thinking much on it at all, she turned to him. “Would you come somewhere with me?” 

Seriousness etched into the lines around his eyes and he nodded, seemingly needing no further explanation. Relief flooded her chest, blooming like a flower in winter, and she held out her mittened hand for his. As soon as his fingers were gripping hers, she grinned and led him past the wards, Apparating on the spot without warning. 

xXx

They landed, hidden in the shadows of the church at the end of the lane. James winced, squirming where he stood. “Okay, I can see why you don’t like me doing that.” 

Hermione wrinkled her nose and giggled. After a moment, she pulled her hand from his, shoving them in the pockets of her wool coat as she turned to walk down the pavement with James at her side. 

“Are you going to tell me where we are?” James asked, rubbing his hands together and blowing warm air into them. “Or is this some sort of punishment for keeping you in the dark last night?”

Tucking her chin, Hermione shook her head, and when she looked up at him again, there were tears hazing her vision. “We’re in Hampstead. It’s where I’m from—where my family lives.” James remained silent, matching her slowing stride. “I’ve thought about coming here a few times since I travelled back but haven’t had the nerve. Tonight seemed the right time, if there is one, at least.” 

“And you brought me?” he asked, brow arched. “I should be flattered.” There was a lilt of that Potter charm he always seemed to ooze but it was missing its normal bravado. 

“I didn’t want to come alone,” she confessed quietly. She’d been omitting the truth and telling half-lies so much lately that it felt good to let her lips slip with the truth. “I wanted to come with you.” 

From the corner of her gaze, she saw him bite into his bottom lip to keep from smiling. His arm draped over her shoulders, and they walked in silence for a ways, enjoying the glittering lights overhead and the snow as it fell in fat, lazy flakes all around them. The homes lining the lane were mostly lit, golden light pouring from their windows, and a few times they could hear laughter spilling into the night air. 

As they approached the cul-de-sac, Hermione felt her heart quicken, crashing painfully into her sternum until she was sure she’d faint. Boots squelching as she stopped, she jerked her chin at the front of her childhood home. “That’s it.” 

James’ fingers tightened around her shoulder, and he tucked just a bit closer. “Do you want to—”

“I’m only just three months old, you know,” she interrupted with a disbelieving huff, a tear streaking over her frigid cheek. “I’m in there, and my parents think I’m normal and safe—they’ve no idea.” Her voice cracked and she ripped her mittens off, shoving them in her pockets with too much force as she swiped at her cheeks. “They’ve no idea what they are getting into. I wonder if they’d known then the chaos I’d bring to their world… I wonder if they’d have still let me go.” 

The words were barreling past her lips, and she was unable to slow them as years of insecurities and worries tumbled into existence. “I wonder if they would have wished for someone ordinary. Because now they have no daughter, no practice that they spent  _ years _ building, they’ve no friends… They have nothing.” 

“Hermione,” James said quietly, turning her to face him and studying her seriously. “What are you talking about?” 

A riot of sobs wracked through her, and she stepped forward to bury her face in his chest. “I  _ Obliviated _ them, James. They’ve no idea who I am. It was my only choice.  _ I had to.”  _

He hushed her, wrapping his broad arms around her shoulders and holding her tightly as she cried. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay.” His reassurances covered her,  _ blanketed her _ until her crying had waned. 

“I’m ridiculous,” she managed, her voice croaking as she stepped back. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t—don’t be sorry.” James’ voice was thick and serious, and just as he filled his lungs with a long breath, his lips parting to say something else, the front door to the Granger home opened. 

Hermione gasped, stuttering backwards and hiding behind James’ shoulders as he held tight to her hand. 

“Oh! Hello, there. Happy Christmas!” Something inside Hermione broke at the familiar sound of her father’s voice in the night air, and she swore it’d never be repaired—no matter the outcome of this impossible mission and the future she hoped to secure for her family, it would remain chipped and fragile for the rest of her days. 

“Happy Christmas!” James said brightly, a tightness to his tone only she could hear. 

“Are you hiding someone behind you there?” Stephen Granger called out, and with a bolstering breath, Hermione stepped out, fighting back a torrent of tears. 

“Hello,” Hermione said weakly, breathless at the sight of her father twenty years younger and free of the pain she’d inevitably bring. 

From the inside of his coat, Hermione’s father pulled free a pack of smokes, lifting a single one out before gesturing they could have one. Both James and Hermione shook their heads, and her father’s booming laughter echoed in the darkness. 

Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he held it there like he was telling a secret and said, “Don’t tell the missus if you see her, yeah? I was supposed to quit when the baby was born a few months back, but it’s so hard when the wine doesn’t stop flowing.”

“Congratulations,” James said, again wrapping an arm around Hermione, this time his hand settling on her hip, “on the baby. You and your wife must be very happy.” 

“Oh, my boy—you’ve no idea at all. Moments like these are only made sweeter when you share it with your baby girl.” 

Hermione was rendered utterly speechless, desperate to say a thousand things that never materialised on her tongue. 

“What’s her name?” James called as Stephen lit his cigarette and let out a long exhale of grey smoke.

A smile stretched over his face, and he leaned against the railing of the front porch. “Hermione.” 

The quivering in her chest turned to a quake, and she was sure at any moment she’d buckle and crash to the pavement. 

“I’m sure she’s beautiful,” James added with a smile, his hand tightening where it rested. 

With another loud laugh, Stephen pointed the two fingers pinching his cigarette at James. “She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Ah, but look at me—drunk and keeping you from a quiet lover’s respite from the chaos of the day. You two enjoy your stroll.” 

From inside, Hermione could hear her mother calling for her husband, her voice stretching even out onto the street. Her father grimaced and after a long final drag, snuffed out his cigarette. “Happy Christmas, you two!”

He turned, about to disappear from her life again, and Hermione stepped forward and called out for him. Pausing with a curious brow, he turned once more. 

“I hope you know how much your daughter loves you.” Her jaw trembled as she spoke, and this man surely thought her to be a nutter, but her heart was a tap that demanded to be opened. “I know that she’s still small, but—take it from another daughter—we’ll do anything at all for our parents. She loves you.” 

Stephen smiled awkwardly, ducking his chin as another call for him rang through the open door. With a quick wave, he was gone. 

Gone again. 

James’ large hands rested on the tops of her shoulders, and she let out a broken breath; a tangle of overwhelming joy and bitter sadness twisting in the chasm of her chest. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly. 

Smiling through the tears staining her cheeks, she nodded. “Yes—yes, I think I am.” Resolve wound down her spine, steeling her nerve. “I can do this, James. I can save them.” 

They sat a moment more, staring at the front of the house and the shadows as they moved across the windows. James turned her to face him. “Want to go somewhere with me?” 

Swallowing thickly, Hermione wiped the remnants of tears from her face and nodded. “Yes.” 

**xXx**

**Can it be 5 days from now so I can pretty please post the next chapter?? (Pssst, I might cheat. Don’t tell the Alphabet.)**

**Thanks for reading, friends! I know I’m not great at responding to reviews but I love each and every one of them! It’s what makes posting day so special for me.**

**Huge shout out to my lovely friends, MCal, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik for working so diligently on these chapters and making these silly words of mine legible.**

**Hope you enjoyed! Until next time :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**_A/N: THE ALPHABET LET ME POST EARLY CAUSE THEY LOVES US GUYS!! EVERYONE SHOWER RAVENSLIGHT, MCAL, AND NUCLEARNIK IN LOVE! OKAY— DEEP BREATHS LETS GO._ **

  
  


Godric’s Hollow

December 1979

As soon as they landed, Hermione’s breath hitched.

She’d walked these streets already—she’d seen that church and knew how the side streets wound wind towards the centre of town. 

Sucking in a hard breath, she swallowed the surrealness of the moments to come. In real-time, she’d been here just over six months ago with Harry, standing at the grave of his parents and mourning their loss. Impossibly, she was standing here now hand in hand with James Potter.

“You okay?” A laugh chased the simple word from James’ lips, and he tugged her along. “This is Godric’s Hollow—have you been?”

Here the snow was falling in thick waves, collecting in her curls and eyelashes. Hermione shook her head free of the ghosts haunting the various corners of her mind and followed after. “Just once.”

“Well, it is famous. Do you know what for?” 

Hermione deadpanned, “Oh, I don’t know… the birth of Godric Gryffindor?”

“That, my sweet girl, is where you’re mistaken.” James released her hand, turning to retreat backwards as he smiled at her. “Famous for the birthplace of me.” 

Their shared laughter filled the quiet street, and they worked their way towards the corner of town where Hermione knew the Potter cottage was waiting. It’d been blown to bits when she’d seen it in December 1997, the entire back of the house destroyed and open to the elements, a living monument to the horrors that occurred there.

As they walked, James turned, again slinging a casual arm over her shoulder. It felt so utterly perfect to be buried in his side that she didn’t stop it. Instead, she rested her head against him and let him point out various parts around town, places he’d learned Quidditch and the best ice cream he’d ever had. Rounding the final corner, her chest seized painfully in her throat at the home sitting at the end of the lane. 

James left her side, unhitching the gate and motioning for her to enter. She did, forcing a smile as she came to stop in front of the massive home—truly,  _ cottage _ was an understatement of epic proportions.

“This,” he said proudly, arms stretched wide, “is my home.” 

Thick emotion pressed in on her throat, and she managed a weak, “It’s lovely.” And it was. It stood two and a half stories high with a pitched roof and giant windows in the front. Snow gathered on the window sills, and it looked at least twice as large as the home the boys lived in now, if not more. 

“My parents left it to me when they died last year.” James said it so offhandedly that Hermione wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him correctly. The muscles in her neck tensed and twitched as she studied the side of his face. He seemed to feel the weight of her stare, his chin ducking and the muscle of his jaw flexing as he swallowed. “It’s not the same as what you’ve been through, I know that. Having to willingly make the decision to be separated from your family and your friends—I can’t imagine what that’s like for you.” 

At that he turned, his lovely eyes misty even in the snowfall and darkness. “But I just wanted you to know that even though you’re isolated, you’re not alone. We’re mostly orphans… or come from extremely unhealthy families,” he paused, wincing. “Sometimes both.” 

A familiar ache churned in her chest. “I’m sorry about your parents.” 

“Thanks. They were of a good sort, and I’m grateful it was quick. They passed within months of each other which was…” He swallowed thickly. “Impossible, really. But they had that kind of love, you know? Couldn’t be away from each other—even in death.” 

“They sound lovely.” A love that fights even past death, that followed blindly into the unknown without another thought; what a lovely romantic notion that was. It was a love that for a long time she’d thought she might someday find—it was maybe a love that she’d thought she’d found in Ron. Now she knew that was impossible. There were things not meant for her and a love like that was one of them. 

James turned back to the house, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “They were, and they left me this place.” 

“Why don’t you guys live here then? I mean, no offence but your place is kind of…” 

He smirked at her over his shoulder. “A piece of shite?”

“Well...” A bright peal of laughter exploded from her, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth to stifle it. “I wouldn’t have said  _ that _ . I would have said  _ quaint _ .” 

A throaty guffaw boomed through the air, and he turned to face her, his eyes alight. “I wouldn’t let those boys in this house. I’ll move here someday when I have a family but until then, the little house near the woods is just fine.”

Hermione hummed, feeling the chill of the night settle deep into her bones. It’d been a long day, preceded by an even longer evening before, and the fatigue was fought off only by the adrenaline of standing in front of Potter cottage and hearing James talk about the family he wanted to have here. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice low and desperate as he took a step into her. Hermione nodded, words failing her. A smile twitched at the corners of his lips, and his hands rose to cradle either side of her face, slipping into her curls. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to kiss you right now.” 

His confession weighed heavy in the frigid air, and without thought, her own hands came up to rest on his forearms. “James…” 

“Tell me why.” The request came out as a plea and tears formed instantly in the edges of Hermione’s eyes that his thumbs quickly banished. “Lily’s out of the picture; I’m not interested in anyone else. I think you’re wicked smart and kinda cranky, and you don’t take shite—not even mine—which I kinda like. I think you’re fucking beautiful, and from the first time I saw you, I felt this… this thing I can’t explain.” One hand left her curls and covered her hand, pressing it over his chest. “And if you tell me you don’t feel it too…” 

She whimpered, too caught up in the most romantic moment of her life to lie even to herself anymore. “James…” Glancing up at him, his normally light eyes were dark and serious, no edge of smugness present at all. 

“I want to kiss you, Hermione. Tell me you don’t want to kiss me too.” 

Searching his face, she tried to remember her reasons; they were in there somewhere, shouting into the void. Her gaze fell to his lips, and that was that—the hand holding her hand to his chest was wrapped around her waist, and his lips were on hers, drinking her in.

They may have been standing in an inch of snow with more floating to Earth by the second, but she’d never in her life been so oblivious to the elements, lost in the feeling of those perfectly full lips pillowing against hers. 

His fingertips slid further in her curls, cradling the base of her skull, and she  _ melted. _ There was no other way of describing it; she lifted onto her toes and melded their bodies together, each brush of their lips leaving her more and more breathless than the second before. 

Sliding her hands to his neck, her fingertips tickling the curls at the back of his head, she felt him smile against her lips.

That breach of the moment, that breath of a respite, caused the chill to return and reality crashed around her. 

With a sharp hiss she jumped back, her cheeks burning and lips tingling from the loss of the world’s most perfect kiss. James’ eyes widened, his hands flying out to stay her and pausing only as she violently shook her head and tears spilt over her cheeks. 

“Damnit,” she cried, stomping her foot in the snow and turning to pace, her mind quickly working to catalogue and sort through the emotions fighting to come up first. “We should  _ not _ have done that, James. That was bad.” 

He snorted, head canting to the side. “I’m not saying I’m full of myself, Hermione, but I’m not that bad a snog.” 

Growling, she reeled on him, hands gesticulating wildly. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it! We—” she paused, gesturing to the space between them, “We can’t be a thing.” 

_ “Why?”  _ The question left his lips in a pained grimace, and she felt it like a knife in her side. 

“I can’t tell you.” Frantically she wiped the tears from her cheeks, folding her lips in to keep the words inside. 

He groaned. “That excuse is quickly becoming really fucking annoying, I’ll have you know. You can tell me! Whatever it is, this invisible thing you seem to be fighting on your own, you don’t have to do it alone.” 

“It’s not that simple.” The words crushed her heart because they were the truest thing she’d ever said, and they changed absolutely nothing. “I wish it was because of course— _ of course _ —I feel this too. But you and Lily—” 

“Are moot. We’re done. We were never something and never will be again. Next point of argument?”

Hermione’s jaw trembled as she swallowed the bitter taste on her tongue. “You think you’re done, but you can’t be. You and Lily are supposed to be together... Everything depends on it.” The last of her words floated into existence on a breath, and she wanted to squash them, to make them untrue and just a horrid exaggeration. But they  _ were _ the truth, plain and simple and bitterly crushing her heart.

With a few purposeful stomps, James was back in front of her, his hands cradling her cheeks and his jaw set. “I’m not going to be with Lily. In whatever future you’ve seen where we somehow are together, that’s gone.  _ Done.  _ It never included you coming back and being here with me because I swear if it did—that future wouldn’t exist.” He bent his knees, meeting her eye line, and she could  _ feel _ the way his magic called to her. “I know it’s ridiculous but I’ve never felt this way about a witch. Never. I’ve chased a skirt or two in my days but— _ fuck!”  _

A disbelieving laugh burst from his lips, and he was wearing the dopiest, happiest smile she could remember seeing. “Here I am,” he continued, blinking as though she were an illusion he didn’t want to lose sight of, “bringing you to my parent’s house where I have dreams and plans to fill them after we end this war the right way, and I’m not saying…” Clenching his eyes shut, he began to backpedal, seemingly terrified of spooking her. “I’m not making any declarations outside of the fact that I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I saw you snarl at me for the first time, and I’m really tired of fighting it.” 

The moment hung, suspended as he waited for her to go on and say  _ bugger it all _ and snog him all over again. Biting into her lip, she tore her gaze from his, shaking her head again. 

She could hear him curse under his breath, saw him push his fingers through his wild hair. And if it weren’t for the confession he’d just offered her, if it weren’t for the way she felt the need to protect his heart if only for a moment more, she wouldn’t have loosened another secret from her coffers. 

“You and Lily get married,” she blurted. “You get married and you have a son, my very best friend, actually.” James stilled, his jaw set tightly. “And I can’t tell you the rest, okay? I get that it’s an annoying excuse but I can’t. Not yet. I  _ need _ you to trust me that even though you think you’re feeling something between us—you’re not. You can’t be. You have to feel those things for Lily Evans because you have to marry her and you have to have Harry. I can’t exist in a world in any decade where Harry doesn’t.” 

Fresh tears froze on her cheek, and a shiver from the prolonged exposure to the cold wracked her body. “I’m just new,” she continued, the words piercing her carefully protected heart like a hot needle. “That’s why you think you feel this thing for me, but it’s not meant to last. You’re not mine—you’ve always belonged to Lily.” 

With a hard sigh, his shoulders sagged in defeat, and his eyes fluttered closed. When they reopened, they were distant, and she knew in the depths of her soul that it was a mistake. But there were reasons—valid reasons—and Hermione could not compromise on them. 

“Let’s get you home,” he said and reached for her hand. She took it without fanfare and in a curl of magic they were gone, Godric’s Hollow and a house full of dreams left far behind. 

xXx

4B stared back at her, and James was silent at her side. If she went inside, things would be done—they’d be over. Two distinct parts of her had sunk their claws in deep, ripping her in two different directions, and the man next to her seemed patient to wait. 

Sighing, she gave up. “Happy Christmas, James,” she said, an air of finality in her voice as she reached for the handle. 

“Hermione!” As she turned, James crashed into her, trapping her against the worn door of the flat and kissing her so deeply she couldn’t tell where either of them ended. His hands found the dip of her waist and gripped her tightly. And she gasped against his lips before crashing back into him, taking everything he offered and pouring more back into him. 

This kiss was different than the first. The first had been a hello, a sweet and timid greeting of their mouths and this—this was a desperate plea to stay. His lips seared into her skin, trailing down her jaw as her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him impossibly closer. Every well-considered reason to stay distant from James Potter dusted into nothing as he sucked on the hollow under her jaw, and she arched into the hard planes of his body. 

His teeth grazed along her pulse point, and when he pushed forward she gasped at the undeniable feeling of his erection pressing against her hip. All of her features pinched tightly together and then—a snap inside her—a dam that broke and all she could manage was,  _ “Bugger it _ .” 

One hand left his curls to find the doorknob behind her, and they stumbled backwards into the room. His expert hands guided her further, and she giggled as he nipped at her bottom lip. 

The lights were near blinding and she clenched her eyelids shut— _ the lights.  _

The lights were on.  _ She’d turned them off.  _

Peeking through one slitted eye, her eyes caught on a scene that was entirely wrong, and she wrenched herself away from James and his eager hands, a strangled cry tearing up her throat at the sight of their flat. 

Everything was destroyed— _ everything.  _ The furniture had been slashed and torn to pieces, the Christmas tree burned into ash, and smoke tinged the wall and ceiling where it had stood. Silencing her own cry with her palm, she trembled at the sheer destruction of the room. 

James’ arm shot out, curling over her waist and pulling him behind her. They both shared in sharp pants as their adrenaline spiked in new, yet not unfamiliar ways.

That’s when her eyes caught on the masterpiece emblazoned behind her. A proud skull with a snake twining through its orifice was burned into the wall. Under it, in sticky red liquid dripping down the dull wallpaper:  _ COMING FOR YOU, MUDBLOOD.  _

**xXx**

**A/N: Okay, okay! I’m going to be good and not post anymore chapters but I needed this one! This time I really will be back in like a week lol but I hope that even though there are some more open ends there was a small bit of relief! Maybe? Omg… I hope Seakays didn’t cry or she’s gonna whoop me.**

**Thanks to my alphabet for indulging my impatience and letting me post this one out of schedule! They are ze best in da biz.**

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

December 1979

Flats over Darwin Street, No. 4B

Hermione felt numb. 

Nudging the door of her bedroom open with the toe of her boot, she let out a sharp breath. She wasn’t surprised by the state of the room—she’d have to be daft not to think they’d leave her space untouched—however, she was surprised by the discomfort she felt at the intrusion. Her sparse personal items were knocked to the floor, knickers and undergarments strewn about with the rest of her clothes. Even some of her books had been flayed open and left with their spines stretched. 

Her eyes were trained on the upturned corner of her sheets, the top left one; the one where she kept her phoenix journal when it wasn’t with her. 

Even with the secure knowledge that it was safe, she tore through her charmed bag, sighing in relief as her fingers brushed its worn pages. Lifting it from the confines of her bag, she hugged it tightly to her chest. James entered, rapping his knuckles lightly on the door. 

“That’s where I kept this,” she said, pointing to the naked edge of her bed. “How could they have known that?”

“Did you charm it? Conceal it there somehow?” 

The space between her brows crinkled in thought. “I did, but it’s not like it was some rudimentary first-year concealment charm or anything. It was bloody advanced—”

“Well, you’d probably have better luck hiding it from them if you _had_ used a weaker charm. They know what to look for, and they didn’t climb to the top of You-Know-Who’s ranks by being shoddy with a wand. Some of them have heads full of rocks, but I don’t think that’s who was sent here.” 

Dropping her hand to her side, she turned, her face contorted in disbelief. “Why here? Unless there is a serious rat in the Order, they don’t know about me.” As soon as the words left her lips, she felt the truth of them sink into her skin. 

_Rat._

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hermione organised the scattered thoughts meandering around her mind. Death Eaters shouldn’t have come here—Peter shouldn’t have turned yet. Things were happening outside of the past she’d so carefully studied, and the more that it changed, the less control she’d have on finding and destroying the Horcruxes. 

James seemed less affected, lifting a pale blue bra with a scallop lace edge from the ground with the tip of his wand. With a grumble, she snatched it from him and tossed it on the bed. “I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll get to the bottom of it though.” 

For the first time in a long while, she felt helpless. “Where are the rest of the boys?”

“Sirius is waiting for Marley. Peter, Remus, Frank, and the twins are out scouting the surrounding blocks.” 

“Do they need help? We could—”

“You’ll feel it if they do. As far as we can tell, these attacks seem to be pretty quick. The Death Eaters’ anonymity is paramount; they won’t do anything that compromises it. I’m sure they left immediately after.”

From the front room she heard several quiet pops. James smiled weakly at her and turned to greet the new voices. Rooted to her spot, Hermione couldn’t stop staring at the mess that had been left. Death Eaters knew their home, could be watching it now. And all she could stare at was the upturned corner of her mattress and think of the catastrophe that would have resulted if her notes had been discovered. 

“Hermione?!” 

Turning, Hermione was barely able to register the blonde mess of hair barreling into her, wrapping her in a vice-like hug. “Hi, Marley,” she wheezed. “Happy Christmas.” 

With a disbelieving huff, Marlene released her and stared at the mess left in the wake of the Death Eaters. “Happy Christmas indeed. Rowena’s rack… How on earth could that have happened? You weren’t here, were you?” 

“No, I left last night and just got home a few minutes ago to this. No idea when they were even here…” 

“Last night?” 

“Yeah, long story, but I stayed at the boys’ house.” A slow grin stretched across the blonde’s face, and Hermione bit back a smile of her own, nudging her gently. “Not like that. I stayed on the couch.” 

Humming to herself, Marlene turned for her own room, cursing loudly as soon as she’d crossed the threshold. Hermione allowed herself a final mournful look at her belongings, then turned for the front room, passing a handful of Aurors and James as they made their way back to the bedrooms. 

Peeking around the corner, Hermione’s breath hitched at the sight of Lily standing in front of the vandalised wall, her eyes trained on the red letters painted across the dull wallpaper. 

“Lily?” The witch in question startled, clutching at her chest as she reeled on Hermione. “Are you okay?”

Lily turned back to the wall, jerking her chin in its general direction. “No, but I suppose that’s to be expected. I’ve heard this stupid bloody slur since I was eleven years old, and it still stings the same as it did the first time.” 

Staring at the angry letters, a hundred memories seared into Hermione’s mind. “Yeah… it does. ” 

From the corner of her sight, her friend’s face crumpled, and Lily looked quickly at the worn carpet beneath her feet. “I’ve been thinking about what you said—about your parents—how you’d do anything to keep them safe. Would you change anything?” 

Hermione winced, a churning deep in her belly making her feel ill at ease at the innocuous question. “I wouldn’t… It was different then. I was out of options. You don’t need to send them away, Lily; we’ll figure something out.” 

On a shuddered breath, Lily dragged her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded. She looked just about to say something but the clatter from the back rooms got louder as they reentered the main space. 

The front door opened, and with a start, Hermione recognised Kingsley Shacklebolt. He looked so much younger now, his hair twisted into tight dreads and tied at the nape of his neck, and a serious set to his eyes that she knew well. He noticed her, stopping short and nodding sharply. “Miss Granger? Kingsley Shacklebolt. Nice to meet you, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.” 

“Hello,” Hermione said with a nod and a smile. 

“You three need to relocate _._ This flat is now compromised. Backup is coming soon and we’ll finish our reports and search the flat more thoroughly. You’ll be allowed back tomorrow to collect anything that doesn’t need to be taken for evidence.” Kingsley spoke brusquely— _clinically—_ as though he were asking them to move their tea service to another room. 

Marley scoffed from the back of the room. “Where in the bloody hell are we supposed to go?”

“Headquarters or a safe house for tonight,” Moody ordered, fussing with a signet ring on his pinky finger as he spoke. “We’ll reassess tomorrow on more permanent locations.” 

Clearing her throat, Lily wrung her fingers together. “I’ll be going back to my parents for tonight, sir. Their house is safe.” 

“And if it’s not?” Kingsley arched a disbelieving brow. 

“Well, if it’s not, then they’ll need someone there with a wand. I’ll return to headquarters at ten o’clock for further instruction.” Lily didn’t speak further, turning determinedly on her heel and out the front door. With a loud, echoing crack, she was gone. 

An uncomfortable grimace twisted Hermione’s features. “Sir? There is something I need to take with me. It’s—” she paused, eyes fluttering to the people surrounding her. “It’s important to my mission here.” 

The two head Aurors shared a look. “Fine,” Kinglsey said quietly. “Only take what’s necessary.” 

With a leaden trudge to her steps, Hermione returned to her room and approached the small bookcase under the window. There was only a small stack of books she’d brought, even fewer left on the shelf: some of her favourites and a handful on triage healing, potions, and other topics she thought she might need. Buried in the middle of the shelf was her tattered copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. It’d been some time since she’d cracked its spine; after all, by now she knew each story by heart. 

Levying a hard breath, she pulled that one free and flipped through its pages until it caught on a photograph marking one spot in particular. It was of her, Harry, and Ron after a Gryffindor Quidditch win in sixth year. It’d still been early on in the year before everything had gone to complete and utter shite. Hermione was sandwiched in the middle, rocking in laughter with her arms slung around her friend’s necks. The boys were looking at her that way they always did when they thought she was barmy before erupting in guffaws of their own. 

Swallowing thickly, she traced her finger across their faces. This is who she was here for—this is what she was saving—even if it’d never be the same. 

A soft knock behind her tore her from her thoughts, and she snapped the book shut, wiping a wayward tear as she turned. James was there, his knuckles still brushing the wood. “Hello, there.” 

“Hi,” she said lamely. 

“Marley is staying at the house with Sirius tonight.” James pushed his hands his jean pockets and shrugged. “HQ will be empty. Frank and Alice are on duty. I was going to offer you to stay at ours—if you’d like.” 

Guilt warped her insides, twisting so painfully she thought she might keel over. “James, I—“

“I won’t kiss you again, Hermione.” He paused, and the thought that those words might be true twisted her insides painfully. “If you don’t want to be alone in that big house all night then you’re welcome at ours. You can have my bed; I’ll sleep on the couch.” When she didn’t immediately argue back, he took a few tentative steps forward, standing so close she could smell the faint cologne on his shirt. Reaching up, he cradled her cheek for a minute and _bugger it all_ , she leaned into the comforting touch. “Either way, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

Nodding, she dared not meet his gaze, instead twisting their fingers together and following him. Upon reentering the main room, she caught sight of Marley near the kitchen, and her blue eyes were trained fiercely on James’ and Hermione’s joined hands. In a panic, she tried to wrench her hand free but James held on tight, leading her as though it were the most natural occurrence. The blush on her cheeks burned so hot she swore that her skin must have been stained crimson. 

“Sirius still out there?” James asked. 

“Yeah, should be back any minute and then we were gonna go the Leaky and shake some of these nerves. You two want to come? Peter’s Patronus arrived and the area looks clear; appears it was just a quick hit.” 

James turned towards Hermione, his brow wrinkled in a silent question. When Hermione shook her head, his fingers tensed around hers. “I think not. I’ll get Hermione settled at the house.” 

Aiming a quiet goodbye spoken to Marley, James and Hermione left through the front door. Once safely away from prying eyes, he rounded so he was standing in front of her. “Are you okay?” 

Hermione shrugged, unsure of the answer herself. Nodding, James whispered to hold tight and in a blink of magic, they were gone. 

xXx

The house felt _different_ post-salacious snog. The quiet felt more pressing, suffocating her until she was sure she was going to implode from its weight. James seemed to feel it too, which did nothing but exacerbate the awkwardness. 

She ought to say something… She just had no idea what to say. There was no part of her that regretted the kiss—or rather kiss _es_ —between them but even so, that changed nothing. Chewing on her lip, she parted her lips to speak only to quickly mash them quickly closed again. 

James watched her, his nose wrinkling in amusement at her squirming, and he moved, trapping her upper arms in his hands and pulling her close. “Hey, it’s okay. I am not about to throw you over my shoulder and have my wicked way with you.” 

“It’s just…” Every word she thought to speak withered and died on her tongue, and she was desperate for one real thought to grasp onto. Then, like a dam breaking, the words came tumbling out. “It’s just that this is all really fucked—and I don’t really curse much, so that should tell you something—and it’s not that I’m not happy we kissed because truthfully, you’re a very good snog, but it feels a bit like the universe is shouting at me to stop snogging you lest it sets a bloody plague on us all.” Pausing to heave in a long breath so she could continue on her tirade, she was silenced by James’ throaty chuckle. 

“It’s okay.” He pressed a kiss to her hairline and then chivalrously retreated. “I’ll let you lead—alright? I will be the gentleman my mum always tried to make me until you tell me differently.” 

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief and nodded.

“But,” James continued, “I need you to know that I’m not having a baby with Lily. I understand that’s not the reality you know or want, but I can’t just impregnate my friend to save a future we don’t know will even exist. In any reality where Lily and I _do_ have a baby, I can assure you it was a surprise to us both. There is no way either one of us entered marriage because we randomly fell in love after all these years.” 

“James…” 

His fingers found hers, lifting one hand to his mouth and then brushing a kiss to the sensitive skin under her wrist. “I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear and if it changes nothing, so be it.” 

It was too complicated, too convoluted and murky, and she couldn’t untangle the mess in her mind. She settled for the safest thing she could land on. “Would you mind if I took a shower before everyone gets back?”

A genuine smile pulled at his cheeks. “Course, love. Marley should have some stuff in there if you need. Just at the end of the hall.” 

As she retreated towards the loo, the tension didn’t lift. It heightened like she was tethered to him in some way, like upon leaving a part of her stayed behind that she wasn’t sure she wanted to be without. It wasn’t until she was standing under the scalding jets of water, letting the heat melt away the stress from her shoulders, that she began to _breathe_ again. 

This was why she was here. She was meant to set in place a new future, and she knew that by doing so important parts of the existing future would be compromised. She just never considered Harry would be one of those. 

The fog enveloped her, stealing away the worries clouding her mind. In that moment, she allowed her mind to drift to the feeling of James’ lips moving against hers, and the way his entire body had curled around her as his fingertips dug into her skin. There was an ache that she wasn’t quite familiar with between her thighs, and the feeling of the suds drifting over her skin made her squirm. Rolling her shoulders, she quickly finished her shower and wrapped a towel around herself. 

It wasn’t until she was out and semi-dried that she realised she’d not been able to take her things with her from the flat. Glowering, she stood staring in the mirror for a long while. She’d need to wear her bloody Christmas jumper to bed. She cast a light cleaning charm on her clothing and dressed. When the time came to actually _leave_ the bathroom, however, she froze, staring at the back of the door. It was simple, she’d just walk out and grab a blanket and sleep on the couch. 

Simple. _Easy._

Summoning every ounce of courage in her body, she gripped the door handle and ripped it open, marching down the hall, but she paused mid-step at the sight of James seated on the couch in a pair of sweats and a thin white shirt. He had his ankle hitched over his knee, a book splayed open in his lap. On his nose was a pair of thick-framed glasses, and his fingers played idly with his wavy hair. The sight ought to remind her of Harry—but it didn’t. James seemed so completely different than his son and staring at this man made her question every single bloody thing she’d been trying so hard to hold onto. 

At the sound of her halting in the middle of the hall, his gaze flickered up, his head tilting back as he stared at her. “Everything okay? Did you shower?”

With an awkward shuffle, she tugged at the hem of her jumper. A blush crept up her neck, and she swallowed thickly. “Yes, I just didn’t bring any clothes. This is all I have,” she said lamely, finally finishing her walk and coming into the main room. “What are you reading?” 

James pulled his glasses from the bridge of his nose and pinched his book shut, his thumb still buried in its pages. “ _Farhenheit 451_ —have you heard of it?” 

For some reason Hermione couldn’t understand, it brought a smile to her face. “Yes. It’s good, if not a bit bleak.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Seems fitting.”

“It’s been a long day. I was thinking of going to bed.” 

“Of course, you can sleep in mine—unless you’d rather have Petey’s.” 

Her lips parted, ready to chastise him, but he was sporting the goofiest grin, and she could do nothing but roll her eyes. That ember that had settled so deep and low in her belly was stoked as he pushed his glasses back on. Biting back a smile, she held her beaded bag in front of her and turned on her heel to make back down the hall. 

Visions of Godric’s Hollow and fiery kisses danced behind her clenched eyelids, and she halted outside the door. Huffing out a disbelieving laugh, she turned back to him. “Are you coming?” 

The question slid through the space between them, the words washing over him. Pushing his glasses higher, he looked up at her. “Are you sure?” 

“No snogging!” she reprimanded sharply, even as he laughed in return. “And definitely no sex. It’s just sleep—I feel bad stealing your bed is all. I’m sure you’ll be infinitely more insufferable since you slept on the sofa last night, and I can barely handle you as insufferable as you are.” 

Grinning, he closed his book and stood, padding barefoot down the hall. “Thanks, Hermione. That’s awfully thoughtful of you.” James twisted the doorknob and left it open for her, making her to squeeze by him to avoid touching his broad chest. “Would you like something different to wear?” 

She did. The idea of sleeping in his bed in a bloody jumper and denims felt suffocating already but her lips twisted as she considered it. “I suppose yes, if you can spare something.” 

From the moment she’d agreed to share the bed, James had been fighting a smile, but as he crossed his room and dug through his drawers, the grin broke free. A moment later he offered her a thick red and gold jersey, POTTER emblazoned on the back. 

A mix of a groan and a laugh spilt from Hermione’s lips, and she shook her damp curls free from her shoulders. “You have no idea how bloody strange this is for me… wearing a Potter Quidditch jersey to bed.” 

Something flashed over James’ features. “Does your friend play Quidditch? This apparent son of mine.” 

Pride bloomed in her chest as she stared at the letters on the back of the shirt. “He does. Made the Quidditch team as a First-Year; youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history.” 

James hummed, his face unreadable. “I’ll let you change. Do you want shorts or sweats?”

“This ought to be fine, so long as you keep your hands to yourself.” Her cheeks burned with a fervid blush. 

Barking out a laugh, the wizard granted her privacy and stepped from the room. Once alone, she slowly divested herself of her clothes, shrugging on the jersey and then tying her curls up with an elastic. She felt naked even though the jersey kissed the middle of her thighs. Climbing into the far side of his bed, she sat primly, heart slamming against her rib cage with each passing breath.

“I’m done!” she called, a riotous mess of pixies wreaking havoc in her belly. 

A heartbeat—or ten—passed, and the door was pushed open. For the first time she could remember, James Potter looked a bit sheepish, his cheeks slightly darkened and his lips folded in a tight line. He stared at for a blink of time, eyes travelling over her torso and then without a word spoken, climbed into the bed next to her, book in hand and pushing his glasses back on his face. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Hermione said uselessly, the simple statement heightening the mounting tension between them. 

Licking the pad of his thumb, he turned the page and rested back against the headboard. “Just when I read. Eyes are a bit dodgy.” He didn’t take his eyes from the page, instead reaching to his nightstand and absently handing her another book. “You look good in that jersey, by the way.”

Hermione smiled, tucking a bit further under the blanket and flipping the book open. She had every intent to read, but the length of the day quickly caught up to her; her eyes fluttering shut and sleep stealing her away only moments later. 

xXx

**A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter as much as I enjoyed getting your thoughts on the last! It’s so much fun to experience the story through your guys’ eyes! So thanks for reading and hanging with me a bit :D**

**Big thanks to my squad, Ravenslight, Mcal, and Nuclear Nik for all their help on this chapter! Couldn’t do the things without them, really.**

**That’s all for this week! Stay safe, friends and Happy Mother's Day!**


	15. Chapter 15

December 1979

Marauder House

Despite the chill that had been present when she fell asleep, Hermione woke feeling enveloped in warmth… and limbs. Eyes shooting open, she quickly assessed her surroundings. She was facing the wall, a quilt tangled around her, the muscular thigh of one James Potter nestled between her legs, and one of his arms draped along her midsection. 

James Potter was a cuddler. The thought made her smile and instinctually, she settled deeper into his embrace, relishing in the sleepy sounds he made as she did. She’d only ever woken up next to one other boy in her life and funnily enough, that boy was Harry. It had only been a handful of times when they were on the run, when the locket had created such horrifying nightmares that she’d woken up drenched in sweat and screams. In the quiet of those nights when Ron had disappeared, Harry comforted her by holding her until daybreak. 

This was nothing like that. This was comfort of a wholly different sort, and in the quiet of early morning, she allowed herself this. She’d move into HQ today and never cross this line again, she resolved with herself. 

_ Just this once. _

Fingers splaying over his, she sank back into his touch. His fingers tightened over her belly, and he nuzzled his face into her riotous mess of hair. “Morning,” he whispered. 

There was a twitch of something hard against her bum, and she quickly clenched her eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge what she was quite sure was an erection, even as the apex of her thighs tingled to life. “Morning,” she squeaked in return, all hopes of breathy and alluring quickly vanishing. 

Turning in his arms, she peeked up through her eyelashes at him, finding his face still relaxed and dancing on the edge of consciousness. If he’d stay asleep, she was quite sure she could watch him this close for hours. Stubble had grown on his jaw, his lips barely parted in a soft "O" as he breathed rhythmically. Over his shoulder, her gaze caught on the clock on his nightstand: 9:45. 

With a strangled gasp, she shot from the bed, making James flail and grapple for his wand. “What?! What is it?” Wand firmly in hand, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. 

“It’s almost ten! We shouldn’t have had a lie-in on a day like today.” 

Sagging back into his spot and dropping his wand, James groaned. “A day like today? It’s bleeding Boxing Day, love. Back to sleep.” 

“ _ No _ , not back to sleep. Back to headquarters.” Scrambling from the sheets tangled between her legs, she moved to crawl over his lap, but James quickly shifted, knocking her knee and causing her to land promptly on his lap—and erection. 

“Hey, I thought you said you wanted to go… What are you doing straddling me like this?” A cocky smirk spread over his lips and his hands came down on the tops of her thighs. 

“I thought you were going to be a gentleman?” she deadpanned, although she didn’t move. 

Choking on a laugh, he removed his hands and tucked them behind his wild bed-head. The muscles in his arms and chest tightened and transformed but he kept his hips statuesquely still. “You’re right. Have your way with me; I’ll keep my hands to myself.” 

Fighting a smile, she swatted at his chest and quickly climbed off. “Fine, stay in bed, you prat. I’m going.” Hermione found her denims and worked them up her legs. Clutching her jumper, she turned back to James who was grinning from his place in the bed, waiting with an excited smile for her to remove her next article of clothing. “Don’t look!” 

With a groan, James flopped back on his mattress, grabbing a pillow and shoving it over his head. Hermione ripped the jersey over her shoulders and tossed it on his belly. Once her jumper was on, she turned back to her bedmate. “See you; thanks for the cuddle.” 

He emerged from the pillows and blankets with round eyes and a horrified set to his mouth. “I don’t cuddle. Do  _ not _ tell anyone that I cuddle.” 

Laughing, she rushed from his room and out of the house. 

xXx

Headquarters was packed, far more so than it had been at Christmas. The air in the room vibrated with anxiety after the attack the night before, and Hermione felt ill at ease as she worked her way through the gathered masses. 

Marley was near the stove, Sirius at her side with his arm slung lazily over her shoulders. They both wore matching Cheshire grins upon seeing her. 

“Kitten,” Sirius purred, his dark grey eyes lit with mischief. “How was your sex?”

Every inch of Hermione’s skin burned with an angry blush, and her lips formed a tight pout. “We did  _ not _ have sex. Don’t go around spreading any of that salacious gossip.” 

“Merlin-fucking-tits!” Peter cried out, breaking through the throngs of people with a sneer. “What the fuck is going on? Why are there so many bloody people here?” 

Remus was next, squeezing in until Hermione felt claustrophobic. “Seems a bit overkill. No offence, girls. It’s not like this is the first time Death Eaters have made their intentions known.” 

Hermione’s brow wrinkled. “Well, Alice said the last attack was the neighbour of an Auror. Have they ever actually breached the wards of an Auror or Order member’s home?” 

The rest of them shared a look, concern settling into their features. Idle chatter filled the room, a few shrieks from wild Weasley boys piercing the air, and finally, a line of Aurors shuffled in, standing in the front of the room. 

“The fuck is all this?” James said around a yawn, inching to the back of the room and perching on Hermione’s left. “If I’d have known it would be this kind of theatrics, I might not have slept in.” 

“Bet you were tired after last night, eh mate?” Sirius waggled his eyebrows and reached around Hermione to playfully shove James, who quickly retaliated by slapping the back of his friend’s head. 

“Don’t be a cock, Sirius. Nothing happened.”

Hermione blushed again, her fingers twining together in front of her as she tried to make herself smaller. 

“Listen up!” Kingsley’s voice rang through the crowd, and they all quieted. “I know it’s still a holiday, and many of you have family to tend to, so we’ll make this quick. As some of you are aware, there was an attack on the flat of McKinnon, Evans, and Granger last night. After a thorough sweep, it looks like it was nothing more than a warning. Up until now most of the attacks have been on Muggles or in the streets; we haven’t had an attack quite like this yet.” 

“What does that mean for the rest of us?” Gideon called out, Molly tugging him quickly back into place. “How the hell did they get in?”

All the Aurors shared worried glances, and though Kingsley’s lips parted to speak, Alice chimed in first. “We’re still looking into it. If anyone has any more information, of course, see one of us immediately. Until then, check your wards; we’re available to help if you need. The girls had standard wards on their flat, and no one with ill intent  _ should _ have been able to find them.” 

Something about that statement prickled the base of Hermione’s skull and tendrils of an idea floated by. Someone had to have known, had to let the Death Eaters in. Her knee-jerk reaction was to blame Peter but something in her gut knew it wasn’t him—not yet. Like a Bludger, an idea barrelled into her. Her face snapped to James, who was still yawning and scratching his jaw. 

“What about the other night when we were under the cloak?” she whispered, gaining the attention of the lingering Marauders. “Sirius’ Patronus alerted them to our location. It could have tipped them off to who we were, and that’s why they came to  _ our _ flat in particular.” 

“Who’d know it was Sirius’?” Remus hissed. “It’s not like he goes around casting it in front of Death Eaters on a regular basis.”

Something wasn’t right and her stomach twisted and churned until another thought—one far more painful than the first—came to mind. “What about Professor Snape? Would he know your Patronus?”

Shrugging, Sirius tried to fix a mask of indifference on his face. “Possibly; he always was a nosy prat. Doesn’t change how they knew where the flat was.” 

“Would Regulus?” she pressed, her voice low and quiet. 

The eldest Black hardened, his jaw turning to steel as he stared back at her with a depthless stare. “He wouldn’t…” 

James sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and shook his head. “What if he didn’t have a choice, Padfoot? If Snivellus knew it was you, they might’ve made Reggie talk.” 

With a harder shake of his head, Sirius became even more determined to convince them. “He wouldn’t rat out the girls. He wouldn’t.”

“What if it was our flat or your house?” Hermione asked. “He might’ve if he thought we wouldn’t be there and it would save you.” 

“ _ Granger! _ ” Moody barked and the whole lot of them jumped. “Do you have something to share with the rest of the class?” 

Memories of imposter-Moody during her fourth year haunted her mind, and she shrank back. “No, sir. Sorry.”

“Well, then keep your prattling to tea time!” 

Having been thoroughly verbally lashed, they fell into tense silence. For the next fifteen or so minutes the senior members took turns rotating through updates and information, protocols for wards and safe houses if needed. 

“And now,” Kingsley said, a sad turn to his mouth, “Lily Evans would like a moment.” 

Everything in the room shifted and stilled as Lily approached the front of the room; she’d not found them when she arrived. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, cheeks swollen and boasting light purple shadows under her eyes. 

“Hello,” she said quietly, her volume inching louder as Moody coughed and nudged her with his walking stick. “Hello! This is a bit uncomfortable so I’ll just get on with it. I am withdrawing from my time with the Order of the Phoenix.” Quiet followed, broken up by the slow, disbelieving murmurs from the crowd. Lily’s emerald gaze found the Marauders in the back and her breath visibly hitched. “I know it’s a bit of a shock, but I have to do what I think is best for my family. We will be relocating out of London.” 

At that, the entire room erupted, each of the Marauders taking an impassioned step forward and shouting into the crowd. Hermione didn’t; she couldn’t move—couldn’t think. Lily couldn’t go. Lily stayed throughout the war, she fought alongside the rest. 

_ Lily couldn’t go. _

Bile inched up Hermione’s throat and she swallowed it back down, pressing her fingertips to her lips. 

Fresh tears striped down Lily’s cheeks, and she seemed to curl in on herself, hugging her torso and shaking. “I’m quite embarrassed to leave you all; you mean so much to me. These past few years you’ve really become my family, and I hate that I can’t be here with you all until the end. Be safe.” 

Turning for the hall, Lily swiftly exited, followed by Molly who was clucking her tongue and shoving people to the side. 

“That’s all for now,” Moody said, his voice turned sombre and deep. “We’ll reconvene within the fortnight. Constant vigilance.”

The room shifted into motion, although Hermione still couldn’t move. She walked only because of the gentle nudging and insistent prodding of the Marauders in a desperate bid to get to Lily. The room moved like cattle, slow and steady through a narrow entrance and once free, the lot of them pushed through the front door. 

There, surrounded by fresh fallen snow and blankets of white landscape, was the fiery-haired, green-eyed witch, Lily Evans. Molly was at her side, holding her hands gently and whispering what appeared to be words of comfort. Hermione felt something horribly off in her stomach and although she knew Lily the least, she felt a responsibility to fix what had been ruined. 

“Lils, what the fuck?” Sirius spat, breaking free of the group. 

Molly rounded on him, glaring momentarily before wrapping Lily in a long hug and cradling her cheek in her palm. “You be safe. Always.” 

With a watery smile, Lily nodded, repeating, “Always,” and Molly retreated to the house. “Hello,” Lily said lamely, tears still falling freely over her cheeks. 

“Lily Evans, tell me right now what’s going on.” Marley’s voice broke on the treacherous words, her own tears springing forward. “You can’t  _ leave _ … Are you barmy? We’re at war, for crying out loud!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Pain etched into the ruby-haired witch’s features. “Don’t you think this isn’t impossible? I have to, okay? I’ve been thinking about it for a while now and after last night…” She paused, jaw trembling. “There’s no way I can stay. I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry?” James scoffed. “This is bullshite. You’re Gryffindor—we don’t run.” 

“I knew you’d say some ridiculous rubbish like that, James. And I truthfully don’t give a shit where some mangy old hat sorted me nearly a decade ago. Sometimes walking away is the right thing to do.” Lily’s gaze snapped to Hermione’s then to Remus standing just behind her. “I have to protect my family.” 

“We can protect your family, Lily,” Remus implored, inching forward. “We can move them or—”

“Hermione, tell them you understand.” Lily’s voice broke on a sob, her shoulders trembling violently. “Tell them.” 

Truth was, Hermione  _ did _ understand. There were no less than a hundred times that she’d considered running with her family and starting anew, forgetting the magical world she’d come to know as home for good. In the end, she’d stayed because of Harry. Harry Potter was the only bleeding person in the world who needed her more than her own family, and for him, she’d done the unthinkable and sent her family away. 

Swallowing the knot of emotion that had lodged itself in her throat, Hermione nodded. “Of course, I do.” A bubble of angry grumblings burst around her and she quieted them with a shake of her head. There was little else she wanted than for Lily to remain there, to somehow get together with James and bring Harry into the world. At this point, it felt selfish. Hermione was little more than a stubborn puppet master, making decisions to ensure what  _ she _ wanted. 

Clearing her throat, Hermione continued, “It’s different for us—being Muggle-born. I’ve seen it all firsthand, and while I want it clear that I don’t want you to leave, of course I can understand why you’d want to.” 

Snapping her jaw tightly shut, Lily nodded. “I’ll write, okay? We’ll see each other again someday.” She began hugging everyone, fast and quick for Sirius who seemed desperate to be done with it all. 

“Can you tell us where you’re going?” Peter asked when his embrace had ended.

Lily shook her head. “No. It’s safer this way. We’ll be gone by the New Year.” She moved on to Marley who broke down in loud sobs as she clutched her friend. 

Then to James who held her tightly, lifting her onto her toes as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Take of yourself, Evans. Don’t try any hero shite…” 

With a trickle of laughter, the witch stepped back and wiped at her cheeks. “ _ You _ don’t try any hero shite. Yeah?” 

Hermione was next, and Lily held an awkward smile for her then hugged her fiercely. “Be careful,” she whispered into her curls. “Take care of James, yeah?” 

Anxiety inched up her spine and Hermione clung harder to Lily.  _ This wasn’t happening.  _

Finally, Remus and Lily were left and the rest of them cowered in the discomfort of the moment, turning to allow them some privacy although they’d not asked for it. Their goodbye seemed the quickest, the coldest, and then Lily Evans was disappearing past the wards and gone in a quiet  _ pop _ .

**xXx**

**A/N: I’m so curious to know your thoughts and shout out to Tashadlv cause I do believe she is the only one to review with the theory that Lily might leave! Huzzah!**

**I get ridiculously more excited each chapter to reveal a bit more of my silliness to you and thank you so much for indulging me!**

**I also want to say thank you to anyone who voted/nominated me for GES Awards! I was so awestruck to receive 4 awards this year! I certainly don't write for recognition but for my immense love of telling stories but knowing that somewhere someone is enjoying it means so much to me! SO MUCH. I received Best Angst for Sweetly Broken, Best Time Travel for The Troublesome Thing About Time, Best Cover Art for Boardwalk by In Dreams, and Runner-up for Best New Author. So… THANK YOU!**

**More thanks to everyone reading and reviewing this story and to my incredible and talented Alphabet, NuclearNik, Ravenslight, and MCal! I appreciate you all!**

**Okay, done rambling. Come find me on Tumblr and let’s chat!**

**Xo-LK**

**_Pssststttt… Next chap? L U C I U S._ **

  
  
  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

December 1979

Longbottom Hall

Her accommodations at Longbottom Hall were far and away grander than the room at the girl’s flat or the sofa at the Marauder house. The furnishings were mostly French with pale pink and ivory flowers on the upholstery. She had a full-size bed with a wrought-iron frame and half a dozen pillows, a lovely bookshelf with fresh flowers, and a large window that faced the east with an alcove to sit in. 

The Longbottom house-elf, a sweet—albeit timid—little thing named Gemma, checked in on her often. Hermione attempted to protest, insisting she didn’t need any tending, but still Gemma would tidy her things and make her bed, deliver tea in the morning and biscuits in the afternoon. 

It all felt so surreal after months in the little rundown flat and nearly a year before on transfigured cots and in shoddy tents. It was a false sense of security she wasn’t sure she wanted. 

It’d been just a few days since the swift departure of Lily Evans, and Hermione’s move to headquarters. Although she filled her time with potion brewing and organising the lab, each day felt like an eternity. 

The Marauders were rundown, depleted by their sadness. Truthfully, she’d hardly seen them at all—not even James. And of course, such things ought to not bother her but he’d become a constant when everything else had been a variable. The boys and Marlene were given assignments—assignments that Hermione wasn’t privy to since her sole focus was to be the Horcruxes. 

She’d argued it with Moody a few days prior but he’d struck her with, “What do we do if you go off and get yourself killed? All of this will have been nothing.” There’d been absolutely nothing left to say to that. 

Shortly after the altercation, Hermione had stopped over at the Marauder house. James had been gone, Sirius pissed drunk. Marley was gaunt, a hollow shell of who she’d been when Christmas was still the distraction du jour, and as the waxing moon crept higher in the sky, Remus became outright cantankerous. 

There was naught to do except keep moving forward. She’d already begun the next batch of wolfsbane for Remus, and  _ finally _ the apothecary in Diagon had been able to obtain some Dittany that wasn’t withered and near-dead from the winter chill. Potions were something tangible she could put her mind to and as such, it was all she focused on. Everything else was a distraction. 

As she rounded the corner into the lab, she halted at the sight of Alice rummaging through its cupboards. 

“Oh, hello!” 

The Auror jumped, knocking over several vials and cursing under her breath. Fixing a bright smile on her face, Alice’s cheeks darkened, her eyes tight and forced wide. “Hello.” 

The awkwardness in the silence that followed made Hermione wince. “Were you looking for something? I’m sorry; I reorganised a bit.” 

“No!” Alice blurted the answer quite forcefully, causing both witches to still. 

“Oh… okay. It’s just...” Hermione paused, sweeping her curls behind her shoulder and shifting back and forth, “you seem to be a bit on edge, and then with the cabinet rifling and all that...” 

Gnawing on her lip, Alice began to pace, her lips moving in a silent conversation with herself. Hermione didn’t interrupt, waiting for the short-haired witch to come across the answer on her own. “Can you keep a secret?” she finally said. 

The space between Hermione’s brows wrinkled, and she took a small step forward. “Of course.” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

One blink. Two. Three. 

_ Pregnant. _

A grin broke over Hermione’s features then, tears filling her eyes, and she bounded across the small room to capture her friend in a fierce hug. “Oh, Alice! I’m so happy for you!”

The witch’s slight body shook in Hermione’s arms and then the tears fell freely. “It’s ridiculous, is what is. Pregnant with a bleeding war going on. I’ve been feeling so out of sorts, and it hit me just a few days ago when I wretched at the thought of Molly’s treacle tart. I’ve been to the healer and sure enough, we are due late July.” 

_ July. _

“I haven’t told Frank yet,” Alice continued. “He’s going to be over the moon, the ridiculous git. The man has absolutely zero qualms about us procreating mid-war or my career as a bloody Auror.” A disbelieving—yet strangely happy—huff burst free from her lips. “I’ve no idea how we are going to make this work, but Merlin, the little bean will be here before we know it.” 

_ July. _

Hermione’s chest shook as she sucked in a long breath. 

“Do we have anything to ease the nausea? The fatigue seems to have let up a bit but I can’t kick the queasiness.” 

She moved about the room methodically, forcing her features bright as she nodded along to Alice’s daydreams and concerns. Half an hour later, the pregnant witch left in a giddy daze with a handful of vials and a few sprigs of mint for her stomach. As soon as she was alone, Hermione collapsed onto her stool, staring at the empty cauldron in front of her. 

Neville was born in late July—just like Harry. 

If Lily Evans wasn’t currently pregnant, then it didn’t matter if she and James ever  _ did _ have a child together. That child wouldn’t be her friend Harry—that Harry would never exist,would never be born in late July and marked by Voldemort. The prophecy would never be set on him in the first place. 

Of course, she’d thought of the possibility—had considered and chewed up the thought until it was barely recognisable—but some part of her clung to a naive belief that she could have it all. 

Just as she was about to give in to the dreaded inevitability, a flicker of hope lit from deep inside her, and she tore from the desk and down to the stables. 

xXx

It had taken three owls to convince Lily to meet in Diagon Alley. 

_ Three _ . 

Yet, here Hermione was, stomping the snow from her boots and ducking into the Leaky Cauldron. Each nerve ending felt raw and exposed, her stomach folding and flopping until she felt sick. 

Lily wasn’t hard to find, cradling a mug of tea with that wild red hair spilling over her shoulders. As Hermione fell into the seat across from her, she smiled wanly. All of her effort had been on  _ getting _ here; now that she found herself in the moment, all the words felt useless. 

“Hermione.” Lily’s body was rigid, her shoulders square and tense, and even her knuckles were white around her steaming mug. 

“Hi, Lily. Thank you so much for coming.” A taut moment of silence followed and Hermione’s features pinched to one side. “You’re going to be leaving soon, yeah?”

“Tomorrow.” 

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Well, thank you. I know it’s a bit awkward, and I wish I could say I was going to make it  _ less _ awkward but… I’m not.” 

“I know why you’re here. James came to see me at my parents and told me.”

Confusion settled heavy on her shoulders, and she ticked her chin sharply to the side. “Told you?”

Tapping an incessant finger on the worn table between them, Lily averted her gaze from Hermione’s. “Yes, told me about this baby I’m supposed to have with him.” 

A volatile cocktail churned deep in her gut: betrayal and ache and… hope. Hermione’s tongue was fat and dry in her mouth and suddenly useless. 

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, of course. James didn’t come to me trying to get me to have a baby with him—ack, no.” Lily’s eyes widened, and she released a dry laugh, shaking her head. “No, nothing like that. He just thought I should know.” 

“Oh.” 

“I told you James and I were never right for each other.” The witch dragged her finger along the curve of her mug handle. “Any kind of coupling of us would be disastrous and wrong. But he’s one of my dearest friends; I want him to be happy. I think I know  _ why _ you were holding back with him, and I want to say thank you. That’s why I agreed to meet you. Thank you for putting your respect for me first, your hope for a future I might have with him someday. It’s completely misguided but—” Lily paused, swallowing slowly, “it’s very sweet.” 

Anxiety pressed in around her, and Hermione felt sick to her stomach. An angry twitch jumped in her neck and she quickly stabbed two fingers into the hollow of her throat to quiet it. 

“I’m not pregnant, Hermione.” 

At that, their gazes met. Warm chocolate against cold emerald. There was no flinch, no lie, no reservation. 

Hermione had accomplished it. She’d changed the future; she had ensured a life where Harry wouldn’t live in a broom cupboard or suffer the neglect of his ‘family’. He’d never be hunted or tortured, would never watch his parents die. He wouldn’t fly a broom or kiss Ginny in the quiet corners of the Burrow. 

He wouldn’t do any of it because he wouldn’t be here. The pain that echoed through the caverns of her chest at the loss of her friend made her falter, breathless as her shoulders slumped. 

_ The world would never know Harry Potter.  _

The things she’d been willing to lose in all this—her life included—had been manageable until now. This wasn’t. She fought the tears back and nodded resolutely at Harry’s mum. 

“Okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” Lily offered, tearing her eyes away as her jaw trembled. “You’ll have to forgive me, just a bit emotional about everything going on. Lots of changes… Anyway, I ought to go. I’m so happy I got to know you, and you let me know if you ever need me and I’ll do my best to help. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you too. Thank you for coming.” They both rose, embracing each other despite the awkwardness of the moment. “If you need me, I’ll be here.” 

“Goodbye,” Lily whispered. 

And then she left. 

xXx

Hermione wandered around Diagon for the afternoon in a daze. With the excitement of the impending new year— _ new decade _ —there was a liveliness that distracted her from the sinking realisation that she’d changed everything irreparably. Had Dumbledore known this was the most likely possibility? Was Harry always disposable in all this?

Shaking the thought from her mind, she dipped into Flourish and Blotts, meandering the aisles with nothing better to do. The store felt slightly newer than the one she knew in the late 90s, the furnishings not quite so scuffed and worn, the upholstery less faded. There was still the nook in the back with a window and an ugly little chandelier overhead. 

Just past it was a section of Mystic Arts and Mythology. It wasn’t Hermione’s favourite section—the topics a bit too reliant on the uncontrollable and unknowable—but it was secluded and empty so she made her way there idly, brushing her fingers along the spines. Pausing, she began to read the titles. 

_ Advanced Divination. Alchemy and Mysticism. The Art of Mysticism. Bettering Yourself Through the Sight of the Third Eye. The Modern Witch’s Guide to Symbols. Readying Your Heart & Finding Love.  _

Hermione groaned and stepped farther into the Mythology section. 

_ Alchemy in the Modern World. Celtic Folklore and Mythology. Masters of Death. Magically Complex Creatures.  _

As she absently followed along, a niggling thought reached for her. She stepped back, searching the titles again. 

_ Masters of Death  _ by I. Peverell III

Lifting the tome from its resting place, her eyes floated over the hardcover. That symbol was there again; the one in  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard,  _ the one Harry had seen around Xenophilius Lovegood’s neck—the one embedded in the Gaunt family ring and Voldemort’s Horcrux. 

With a furrowed brow, she gently lifted the cover. Before she could read a single word, the book flew swiftly from her grasp. Snapping her eyes up, ready to insult the absolute fiend who would think to take a book from her, she halted. Her blood ran cold, breath sticking in her throat. 

Lucius Malfoy stood stoically before her, holding her book. He didn’t speak, his mouth twisting into a cruel smirk as he canted his chin higher. “Hello.” 

“I was looking at that,” Hermione said, her voice carrying an icy edge that made Lucius’ smile broaden. 

“So you were, and yet—” He lightly shook the book back and forth in his hand. “Here it is. My name is Lucius Malfoy; I’m not sure I’ve had the pleasure.” The hand not holding her book was thrust between them and she grimaced, forcing herself to reach for it. 

Best not to ruffle the git’s feathers prematurely. She knew firsthand what it was like to have Lucius Malfoy as an enemy and the longer she could prolong it, the better. As soon as their palms touched, she felt the intrusion, a hard prodding at the front of her mind. Wrenching her hand back, she glowered at him. 

“You’re an Occulmens?” he asked, his brows twitching in amusement. “Surprising for a Mudblood.” 

Sucking in a hard breath, she steeled her spine. “I’m surprised as well; you’re not a very good Legillimens. I could practically feel you knocking and begging for entrance. You ought to have been trained better.” 

“Excuse me,” he sneered, snapping the book to his chest as though she’d reached out and tried to pry it from his cold fingers. “You can’t speak to me like that! Do you have any idea who I am?” 

Rolling her eyes, she held out her palm for the tome. Merlin, she hadn’t thought anyone would be more insufferable than a young Draco Malfoy—she’d been mistaken. “I’d like my book back please.” 

“What on earth could you need with such a work? Surely there is something around here for kitschy fortune telling for Muggles; leave the serious arts to those with proper ancestry.” 

Hermione groaned. “Give me my book.” 

_ “No _ .” His eyes narrowed, and she was actually starting to get irate that he was attempting to fight with her over a bloody book when a newcomer startled her. 

“Lucius, what on earth is taking so long?” A thick voice drawled as a new face rounded the corner. She didn’t know him, but the magic radiating off him frightened her. She took a sharp step back. He was older, his hair greying at the temple and his thin lips set in a scowl. “Why are you arguing with this frightened little bird? She looks rather harmless.” 

Despite her best interests, she scoffed and crossed her arms. “You’d think better of that if you knew who I was.”

Something dangerous flashed in the slate eyes of the newcomer, and he stepped around Malfoy with wry amusement. “And  _ who _ are you, then?”

Her stomach heaved at the Dark Magic permeating through the air like a rancid breath. “I’m Hermione Granger.” 

“Mudblood?” 

“ _ Muggle-born _ ,” she corrected with a narrowed glare, “And about to purchase that book before your lackey stole it from my hands.” 

Malfoy’s lip curled, and he looked about to toss an acidic insult her way but was interrupted by his companion’s throaty laughter. “She’s funny, Malfoy. Isn’t she?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “I’m Theodore Nott. Enchanté.”

Hermione hummed. 

“Malfoy, do you need to purchase that book? Surely you have a copy in your own library.” Theodore jerked his chin over his shoulder but didn’t take his gaze from Hermione. 

“As it is, I find myself wanting this  _ particular _ copy. More’s the pity, Mudblood.” Malfoy turned on his heel, glaring at her with book in hand and marching towards the front of the stop, calling sharply over his shoulder, “Until we meet again.”

Theodore raised his gloved palms to the ceiling, his mouth turning down on one side. “Some families got all the manners it seems. Perhaps I could acquire another copy of this sacred tome and send it along? Just advise on where to send it.”

“No, thank you,” she managed through gritted teeth. 

“You’re quite pretty,” he said, his gaze dragging over her body in a way that made her want to claw her skin off. “Well, I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon, Miss Granger. Enjoy the day.” 

In the wake of his billowing robes and wretched magic, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, hiding her trembling fists at her sides. An impending headache thrummed painfully at her temples, and she turned back to the stacks simply for somewhere else to look, glowering at the empty spot the book had been in. 

Her eyes caught on another spine back in the Mysticism section and before anyone could steal it from her as well, she grabbed it forcefully from the shelf and disappeared deeper into the stacks. 

**xXx**

**A/N: Would love to know your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading and as always a giant thank you to my Alphas, Ravenslight and MCal, and my beta, NuclearNik!**

**Come chat with me on Tumblr! I love hearing from you guys and your thoughts on this little old thang of mine. Until next time!** **  
**   
  



	17. Chapter 17

December 1979

Longbottom Hall

Hermione mourned. 

For the first time, she really allowed herself to grieve the future that would no longer be. A part of her naively clung to the hope that she would be able to right the wrongs and get to keep that which was so dear to her. She knew now that was a fool’s hope. 

The mourning period was followed by a numbness that settled so deeply into her soul that even her perfunctory tasks seemed to be done by someone else’s hands; as though she’d lifted from her own body, forced to watch as an observer in her life. 

Then on December 31 st , the fog lifted. An understanding washed over her: one life—even that of Harry Potter—could not trump the lives of the hundreds lost between the two wars. If she didn’t end this properly, then it would all be for naught. And at this point, there was nothing left for her to do. 

So, Hermione said goodbye. 

Then, she’d pulled herself together and marched to the library with the book she’d purchased from Flourish and Blotts the other day:  _ The Modern Witch’s Guide to Symbols _ . There was a section on theory and practical use, deciphering the magical symbols found in the world, and there was an appendix. She’d flipped through the pages idly after purchasing it when the shroud of her despair had still been too heavy to shake.

When she was ready, she sought the help of Gemma, inquiring about how the library was organised. She’d collected a stack of books and then Floo’d to the house and requested Remus’ help. It’d been days since she’d seen any of the Marauders—including James—and when her old Professor stumbled through the Floo shaking soot and ash from his clothing, she felt a wave of relief. Up until now, she’d taken for granted the luxury of her newfound friends. 

“Hermione.” His throat tensed as if swallowing was a difficulty. “Did you need something?”

Sitting tall on the sofa, surrounded by a wall of books, Hermione nodded and shoved her wand into the curly knot on the top of her head. “Are you busy? I could use an extra brain if you’ve got some to spare.” 

Remus dragged his hand through his hair and smiled weakly, finding a small area of the sofa to perch on. “Sure. Although, I’m just a few days from the moon now, and my friends seem to fit to tell me I’m being a bigger arse than normal this cycle. So you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not all that cheerful.” 

“I don’t need cheerful,” she said kindly. “Just another set of eyes and someone to tell me if I’m being mad.” 

Folding his lips inward he nodded once. “That I can do.” 

Sorting through the tomes surrounding her, she  _ aha’d _ as she found the book she’d purchased and her copy of  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard. _ “Do you see this?” Flipping it open, she pointed to the symbol she seemed to keep running into. “I’ve found it here but strangely enough, it was also on the cover of another book in Flourish and Blotts the other day.” 

“Which one?”

An angry blush blossomed on her cheeks at the memory of the encounter she’d had, and her lips pursed tightly. “Well, I don’t have that one, and I can’t seem to find it here in the library, though I’ve not exhausted my efforts. It was called  _ Masters of Death _ ; I don’t remember the author. I had it for only a moment before Lucius Malfoy—”

“Lucius?” Remus baulked, eyes widening.  _ “You _ ran into Malfoy? Why didn’t you mention it?”

“No one seemed much up for talking after Lil— _ after Christmas _ . It was harmless; other than that he stole my bloody book. Theodore Nott was with him.” 

Remus sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and shook his head. “Well, glad you made it away unscathed. Those gits always give me a bit of pause.” 

“Well, I had the book, and Lucius summoned it from my hands and insisted on buying it even though Nott made it clear he probably had a copy. Anyway, this symbol, if you remember, was also the one embedded in the ring that we found—the Horcrux. It was worn by Xenophilius Lovegood at one point in time… I keep seeing it, and I can’t help but think they are related in some way.” 

I’ve looked,” Hermione continued. “I’ve spent all bloody morning in the pages of this book on symbols as well as runes and wand work—I can’t make sense of it. It’s close to the Wiccan sign for Air and Fire, but it doesn’t match.” 

Humming, Remus plucked the book from her fingers and traced Albus Dumbledore’s signature on the front page. “Well, you may be looking at it as a whole, where it ought to be viewed separately. What if it’s not a single rune or symbol or whatever—what if it’s several components combined into one?”

Her brow wrinkled and she sat back, gnawing on her lip. “That could be it… but the four instances I’ve seen the symbol don’t relate. Not even close.” 

“Let’s see,” Remus said, hitching his ankle over his knee and resting his arm around the back of the sofa. “What was the title of that book Malfoy took from you?”

_ “Masters of Death.” _

“And where’d you get this?” He held up the worn children’s book for inspection. 

“It was a bequest from Albus Dumbledore.” It wasn’t until Remus stilled and his golden eyes shot up to hers that she realised that she’d let his death slip. “Oh, um, yes. It’s okay—he knows. It happens a long time from now.” 

The tip of his tongue shot out, wetting his lips as he considered it. Then, as if the answer had been washed up with the tide at his feet, he shrugged. “Seems easy enough—you need to ask the man who gave it to you.” 

“Dumbledore,” she breathed. “Of course.” 

“Problem is, he’s gone. Won’t be back until the start of term. Until then, we might try and find this elusive book you had stolen from you. If it’s not here, ask Jamie.” Her breath audibly hitched, and Remus grinned at his lap. “The Potter family boasts quite the collection. I hate to speak for my friend, but I’m sure he’d happily take you.” 

“Right… Right. I’ll ask him next time I see him.” There was a sombre inflection in the words she didn’t intend, and she scrunched her nose at the sound. 

“Come by tonight,” Remus said with a tick of his chin. “We are keeping it quiet for the New Year, but you should come.” 

“For James?” she scoffed. 

_ “For all of us. _ We could all use the night off, yeah?” 

Hermione nodded. There was no point in arguing when she wholeheartedly agreed. 

xXx

She spent the rest of the afternoon buried in the stacks at Longbottom Hall with no success. Surely the book couldn’t be all that rare if it was left in the aisles of Flourish and Blotts; she’d just need to track the bloody thing down. 

As the sun tucked below the trees, she gave up and readied herself for the night. Upon arriving at the house, she couldn’t shake the nerves that had tangled in her belly. 

The houseguests were jovial, if not a little quieter than usual. Easy music Hermione remembered from her childhood floated lightly through the room, and except for the furnishings and slightly questionable fashion in some cases, it felt much like the Gryffindor common room. 

James wasn’t there; apparently he’d been working with the Aurors on some unknown mission. Since Christmas, he’d rarely been around. It did nothing to soothe the queasiness she felt at not seeing him. She couldn’t shake the idea that she’d spurned him somehow. Logically, she knew she’d done nothing wrong. 

But she missed him. 

Peter and Remus were doing an all right job distracting her, teaching her the inner workings of a game that seemed completely made up by the Marauders as it was really some sort of drinking game in which they insulted each other. They gained points by making the other laugh and then were forced into divulging a secret. They attempted to get her to sit in, and she quickly refused, settling in to watch and laugh at the pair of them instead. 

Sirius arrived, palms flat on the table, and called them both names so abhorrent—and creative—that the entire table rocked in raucous laughter. He’d earned his secrets and then tugged Marley into his lap and demanded a new activity. Whistling loudly, he gathered the twins and their dates—witches Hermione had never met and still hadn’t grabbed their names. 

They fell into easy conversation, the wine and beers restocked easily, and she was so lost in laughter at the Prewetts wrestling on the floor like drunken fools that she’d missed the door hitching shut. 

“Ah! Prongs, y’bastard. Where’ve you been?” Sirius roared, quieting the room. 

Hermione stilled, feeling the presence of him before she’d even turned to greet him. The weight of his stare on the back of her skull made her feel unwelcome in his home. Maybe it’d been presumptuous to be here when he wasn’t—but then, they weren’t dating. 

They were friends. 

“Not having half as much fun as you lot it seems.” James’ throaty voice rumbled around her, and she couldn’t help the way her gaze shot over her shoulder, searching for him. His stubble was longer than she’d seen before, his eyes a bit glassy and tired as he lifted a beer from the fridge and crossed the room. He stopped next to her, standing at the edge of the couch and winking down at her before taking a long sip. “Are we taking bets on which twin kills the other?”

“Now, that’s not a half-bad idea!” Sirius shouted, and Marley laughed next to him and pressed her fingers to his lips in a vain attempt at quieting the drunken Marauder. 

James looked at Hermione again and ticked his chin to the side. “Mind if I join you?” 

Swallowing, she shifted towards the centre of the couch, allowing him the space to fall into the corner she’d been occupying. Her spine stayed stiff, and she sat tall as he made himself comfortable. 

“Where were you, mate?” Peter asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned forward. “Haven’t seen you all week.” 

Hermione tried to keep her face passive, even if she was desperate for the knowledge.

“Ministry—working with Frank and Kings on something.” James shrugged. 

“That all you can tell us?” Sirius pressed, kicking his worn boots up on the coffee table. “I was starting to wonder if you’d gone and started pining for Lils. Wasn’t sure who was moping more—you or Moony.” 

A soft growl vibrated from across the table, and Remus bared his teeth. Tension settled around the room and even Hermione could feel it like a blanket, one she desperately wanted to shrug off. 

“You’re a prat, Padfoot,” James rushed. His hand came down on her waist and tugged her swiftly into the crook in his side. “Moony is free to pine to his heart’s content; she’s not my witch.” 

He pressed Hermione into his side like he was claiming her. She felt the instinct to admonish him but his hand came down on her hip, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles across her jeans and she had the strangest inclination that this was as much for Remus as it was for her. 

“You guys are always so  _ serious _ ,” Sirius groaned. “It’s about to be 1980! This is our year, mates!” 

Hermione rested her head back and levied a heavy sigh; she wasn’t sure if this would be their year. But she’d be insistent on doing her best to make sure it was—for all of them. 

xXx

It was nearing midnight and the music had gotten louder, their drunken laughter spilling over each song. She’d excused herself to the loo, and upon coming back, she’d found James missing. She waited awhile, but as she began shifting uncomfortably and absently looking over her shoulder for him, Peter nudged her with his elbow and gestured for the back door. With a small smile and a silent  _ thank you _ , she summoned her coat and shrugged it on. 

The back porch led out to a tiny garden skirted by the forest. The earth was still blanketed with snow, most of it untouched, and she was reminded just how much she loved the winter as the scene glittered in the light of the waxing moon. James was standing with his back towards the house, a giant, ethereal stag standing proudly in front of him. 

Her breath caught at the beauty of the corporeal beast so starkly in contrast with the darkness and snowfall. She couldn’t move, her eyes studying the pair of them with great intent. The stag dropped its snout and nudged James gently. 

Biting back a grin, Hermione pulled out her wand and focused on a memory she had of her parents when they’d been to the Sea Life Museum when she was a child. It wasn’t the most spectacular day; it wasn’t full of magic and whimsy. It was, however, her eleventh birthday and one of the most perfect days she could remember before she found out she was a witch. 

As the memory flooded her mind, she whispered a quiet  _ Expecto Patronum _ and her own Patronus burst forward. While James’ seemed to be quiet and stoic, Hermione’s was wild and curious, fluttering through the air and curling around her. With a flick of her wrist, the small otter skittered over the snow and wound up James’ body, earning a throaty laugh as it tickled his cheek and then hopped onto his stag’s head. 

Hermione giggled and descended the stairs, snow crunching under her boots as she crossed the space between them. 

“This is your Patronus?” he gaped, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’m surprised.” 

“Why’s that?” Hiding a laugh, she nudged him lightly and stood at his side. 

“I would have expected something like a lioness or an eagle—something ready to destroy its prey.” 

A bright laugh slipped from her lips, and she held her arm out, letting her otter scamper up her arm and round her neck before leaping to the ground and mirroring the action up the stag’s legs. The stag huffed and shook his antlers, his hooves trying to scrape the snow as the otter annoyed it relentlessly. 

“Yours is beautiful,” she confessed. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen the stag, but it filled her with awe nonetheless. The beasts silver eyes landed on her, and he stepped towards her, pushing his nose into her chest until she curled her arms around his head. The feeling of the magic was strange, not quite solid but tangible nonetheless—like running water. 

“He is.” James raised a hand and placed it reverently between the animal’s eyes, which fluttered closed in comfort. “Yours is…  _ energetic.”  _

From the stag’s neck, the otter popped up and canted its head to the side. “She’s  _ curious _ .” Hermione laughed and turned to face the man at her side. “And fast and smart and  _ adorable.”  _

“Ah, I wonder where the little critter gets it, then.” A dimple appeared, buried in his stubble, as he smirked and his eyes slid slowly over her features. 

“I haven’t seen you in a few days…” she said quietly, averting her gaze back to the stag still nuzzling her. “Was everything okay?”

James hummed. “Yes. I was helping the Aurors with the break-in on your flat. Trying to nail down more evidence and pulling some extra surveillance around the building in case anyone came back hoping to find you there.” 

“Really?” Her brow wrinkled. “Why? I’ve no intent on going back…” 

Shrugging, James didn’t take his gaze from hers, and the heat of his stare stoked the embers in her chest. “Just wanted to make sure.”

The air shifted and stilled, and she dropped her hands away and turned to face him. “Why didn’t you come to see me?” 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.” 

The confession washed over her, clearing the cobwebs from the cavern in her chest and warming her from the inside out. Something inside her loosened, and she released a confession of her own. “Well, I did.” 

A fluttering leapt to life in her chest, and she took a step towards him, allowing everything else to melt away as she lifted her palms to cradle his prickly cheeks.

He didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink. He waited for her, and the moment stretched on like a cord pulled too tight. 

Lifting onto her toes, she pressed her body gently into his, breathing again once his hands wound around her waist and pulled her tighter still. 

Their lips hovered a breath away, and she chanced a glance up at his hazel eyes. A smirk worked all the way up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. With a soft laugh, she closed the distance, pillowing his bottom lip between hers as she slid her fingers from his cheeks to the messy wave of curls at the nape of his neck. 

That was all it took for him to envelope her in his thick arms. Each press of his lips left her breathless. 

Again and again, he slanted his mouth over every inch of hers, his tongue darting out to taste the wine still staining her lips. Around them, she felt their Patronues’ fade, their magic far more intent on the moment at hand as they curled and twined into each other, lips parting and their tongues meeting in a delicate dance. 

One of his hands travelled up the curve of her spine, burying into her mess of curls and cradling her skull. It never turned desperate, instead remaining slow and steady, like the constant thrumming of a gentle river, and when their lips parted, foreheads pressed together, they both erupted into broad smiles. 

“I’m crazy about you. Did you know?” he breathed, both hands coming up to curl around her jaw as he pressed one more kiss to her lips. 

“I figured as much… I’m quite keen on you too, unfortunately.” 

He laughed against her mouth, lifting her off her toes and kissing her deeply until the joyous sounds of the New Year spilled from the house and into the night air. 

“Happy New Year, Hermione.” 

“Happy New Year.” And then he was kissing her again, and she thought maybe she agreed with Sirius.

Maybe this would be their year. 

**A/N: Usually when I’m starting to piece together a story there are a few scenes that stick out that I work towards because I can’t wait to write them. This is one of them! I so hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading, reviewing, and following this silly thing. It means so very much to me!** **  
** **  
** **As always thanks to my alphabet, Ravenslight, Mcal, and NuclearNik BUT I’ve been lucky enough to snag myself a Brit! Farmulousa is now the official Brit Picker of 1979 and I’m so grateful!** **  
** **  
** **See you in five horrendously long days! Come chat on Tumblr til then!**

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

January 1980

Potter Cottage

The Potter family home felt much like Longbottom Hall, if not slightly smaller. It was night when they arrived but even then, she could tell that the inside would be brilliantly lit with natural light when the sun was out. James showed her around, bashfully walking her from room to room. 

Hermione paused at the room at the end of the hall with the pale yellow wallpaper and its walls still intact, swallowing the knowledge of what would have happened here. 

The kitchen was lovely, as was the sitting room and the den, but the library—Merlin, the library. It didn’t boast the sprawling stacks and elegant furnishings of headquarters, but the books were nearly spilling from the shelves. She was giddy as she spun in a slow circle in the middle of the room, beelining for the nearest shelves. 

“I’m not sure if you know, but I’m a bit of a bibliophile.” As she trailed her fingers along a row of spines, James followed quietly, hands resting in his trouser pockets. “Your home is lovely; I can’t imagine growing up in a place this grand.” 

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.” He brushed up against her back, his chest pressing against her as he wound his arms around her middle. “Tell me again what we’re looking for.” 

Resting her head back on his chest, she sighed, long and heavy. “We are looking for a book called  _ Masters of Death _ and the author was a Peverence? Percival? Pervicious?”

James laughed then rested his chin on the top of her head. “Peverell?” 

With a gasp, she stilled. “Have you heard of it?” 

“I don’t think so. But,I do know of the Peverells. They’re buried here in Godric’s Hollow; they’re a bit of a legend. And I don’t mean to boast,” he paused to grin, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “but the Potters are considered descendants of the third brother.” 

Fragments of an idea began to glimmer in the confines of her mind, and she dared not speak and spook them away. 

“My cloak, the invisibility one, of course, is rumoured to have travelled all the way down from Ignotus Peverell himself. Supposedly, it’s one of the original Deathly Hallows.”

A shiver inched across her spine, and she whipped her face around to look at him. “The what?” 

“The Deathly Hallows. You know, the Tale of the Three Brothers?” 

Disentangling herself, she thrust her hand in her bag until she was elbow deep and then yanked her worn copy free. “From this book?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I mean, it’s a children’s story—so take what you will—but each of the three brothers were gifted something from Death. It was a trick and ended up leading to their demise.” 

Hermione knew the story; she’d read it a hundred times now, but she nodded along as though he were telling it to her for the very first time.

“The cloak was gifted to Ignotus Peverell and handed down from generation to generation. My grandad used to tell me it was  _ the _ invisibility cloak—the one that came straight from Death. I don’t know about all that,” James laughed. “Like I said, it’s a children’s story. Most likely, old Ignotus had an invisibility cloak and gave it to his kid and through the years, people began to tell lies to their children to help them fall asleep. However, if that book you’re looking for is by a Peverell, chances are it’s here.”

Hope flared to life in her chest, and she turned, steadfast determination flowing through her. “Would you help me find it?”

James smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Of course.” 

  
  


xXx

Hermione returned to the library at headquarters with James in tow; he seemed content just to be there, watching the fire as she tucked into his side and flipped through the ever-elusive  _ Master of Death  _ by I. Peverell III, the great descendant of the original third brother. The book was hardly anything she’d consider non-fiction, tales and hearsay of the Hallows as they travelled through generations. At any given time, the different pieces were noted to be in the possession of several people, which frustrated her to no end. In the early 1900s, the Resurrection Stone was rumoured to be in both Austria with a witch who sold visits with lost loved ones and in America with a circus travelling the East Coast. Every tale discredited another. 

The forward, written by Ignotus Peverell III, was little more than his idle musings about what it would mean to hold all three Deathly Hallows at once. But he didn’t  _ know _ anything, and the author even went so far as to include articles opposing his theory. Ignotus believed the owner of the three Deathly Hallows became the Master of Death, able to conquer it and live forever. Another contributor believed they became Death incarnate; yet another believed one could travel beyond the veil and back again. 

With a groan, she slammed another book shut and in frustration chucked it at the far side of the couch. “I give up.” 

“What did that book do to you? Should I burn its pages as punishment?” Laughter laced his words and with a snap of his fingers, the book floated into his lap. 

“Your ancestor is an idiot. How on earth he was able to become a published author is beyond me.” 

James chuckled and set the book aside again. “Probably means you ought to take a break and snog me.” 

Gasping, her eyes rounded at the presumption, and she reeled on him. “James Potter!” 

_ “What?” _ With a quiet chuckle, he rearranged them and pressed his lips to her covered shoulder, and then to her collar where her skin was partly exposed. “Snogging is quite good for the brain, I’ll have you know. I did quite well in my N.E.W.T.s, and I spent the entire spring snogging in broom cupboards.” 

With an amused scoff, she pushed him back lightly. “You really know how to charm your way into a witch’s knickers, don’t you? You ought not talk about snogging anyone else in your pursuit of snogging me. It’s poor manners.” 

“Apologies,” he mumbled, lips sliding to the sensitive hollow under her jaw. Against her good sense, she craned her neck to allow him easier access, sucking in a sharp inhale as his tongue darted out to wet her skin. “I only meant to help you clear your mind.” 

Curling her fingers in his t-shirt, she couldn’t help the way she arched into him. There’d not ever been much time for snogging wizards—well, there’d been some time—but not an abundance by any stretch of the imagination. Now that she found herself with some spare moments, she could see the merit. Especially when her partner was so sinfully skilled that she found herself purring under his touch. 

He was careful not to touch anywhere deemed too inappropriate, staying resolutely to the curve of her hips and waist. Slipping her hands up his chest, she situated herself so that she could fall back on the sofa, letting James fall between her thighs and hover over her. 

Their lips finally found each other, and his tongue darted out to taste her. In the limited amount of time she’d spent imagining how James would kiss, it was nothing like this. She was sure he’d be desperate and hungry, like on Christmas when she’d given in outside her flat. But he wasn’t—he was slow and deliberate, learning the way she moved and the secret spaces of her body that made her squirm. 

One hand curled around her hip and slid up her shirt, never approaching her breasts but delicately climbing the ridges of her ribcage. She keened— _ embarrassingly so— _ widening her legs so he could settle even farther in. His kiss slid down her jaw and back to her neck, and as he latched on with to gently suck, he rocked his hips into her. Gasping, she clung to him, dragging him down and silently begging for more—or maybe less. She wasn’t really sure what she wanted, only that it felt so bloody good. 

His fingers brushed the side of her breast, and her eyes shot open, a confession tumbling past her lips before she could think better of it. “ _ I’m a virgin. _ ” 

They stilled—well, except for Hermione’s face, which pinched in the wake of her awkwardness. Glacially, James pulled back, and even with her eyes clenched she could feel the horror etched on his features. He continued back until he was off of her and she laid there like a wanton tart, spread out and grimacing. Withering, she turned onto her side and buried her face in the pillow. 

James rushed through an apology of sorts. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… Well, regardless if you’re a—well, you know—or not, I shouldn’t have been so forward.” 

_ “Ack!” _ she cried, pushing to sit up and drawing her knees up to her chest. “No! You didn’t  _ do _ anything. Well, nothing I didn’t want you to do—and more, really—but I just thought you should know.” Hiding her face in her palms, she tried to push the embarrassing tears away and finally managed to peek up at him. 

James’ eyes were blown wide and round, his lips folded inward as though he were physically trying to keep words inside his mouth. 

“I like snogging you,” she confessed quietly. “I like it very much, and I know you’re all experienced with the witches in the broom cupboards and Lily and probably a dozen more… but, well, I’m not. I didn’t have much time for such things and outside of a single kiss from Viktor Krum and McLaggen’s wandering tongue and touch—” 

_ “McLaggen kissed you?”  _ James jaw fell open, a fire igniting in his gaze. “The smarmy fucking—” 

Realisation washed over her, and she quickly shook her head and unfolded her body slightly. “No, no. Not Hawthorne!  _ Cormac _ McLaggen, his son or maybe nephew… I haven’t really asked but regardless, I’m just saying that I don’t really know how to do all this.” She gestured to the space between them on the couch which felt like far, far too much.

After a few long breaths, the rigidity of the moment faded, and they both seemed to sag in relief. 

“First of all, there haven’t been  _ dozens _ of witches,” he deadpanned, a smirk fighting its way through at the end. “Second, I’m not in any rush; we can dial things back.”

Her lips quirked, and she scooted across the sofa until she was perched in his lap. “I don’t want to go back. I just… wanted you to know.” 

Humming, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, his eyelashes fluttering as her bum pressed against his groin. “Why don’t you just tell me when you want more?”

Taking a moment to consider that, Hermione fought against her inability to vocalise what it was  _ she _ wanted and agreed. “I can do that.” 

James brushed her curls off her shoulder and cradled her jaw, staring at her with an amused crinkle to his eyes. They settled into each other’s embrace for a few minutes longer, sharing lazy kisses and soft touches. When he pulled back, he glanced to the setting sun outside the wall of windows and groaned. 

“Full moon tonight; I need to go.” With a final lingering kiss, she vacated his lap, and he stood to leave. “I usually have to sleep most of the day after, but could I see you tomorrow night?” 

The simple request had her biting back a smile, and she nodded eagerly. “I’d like that.”

Drifting down, he caged his arms around her, bracing his hands on the back of the sofa and kissing her breathless once more. “Can’t wait,” he mumbled against her lips and then made for the Floo. 

“Wait!” A curious thought bubbled to the front of her mind. “How does Peter keep up with you lot when you run? His legs must be so tiny.” 

James burst out laughing and grinned back at her. “On either my or Sirius’ back—he’s quite testy about it, so I wouldn’t bring it up. He was rather put out when he turned out to be a rat.” With a wink, he disappeared in a vibrant flash of green. 

xXx

Tucked away in her potions room and idly folding fluxweed into a bubbling cauldron, Hermione lost herself in the flesh memories of James’ lips on hers. He’d sent word earlier that the run had gone well and he was looking forward to seeing her tonight; still, her imagination danced with ideas and thoughts of  _ more. _

Her fingers trailed where he’d kissed the day prior, finding the delicate love bite he’d left that she’d begrudgingly glamoured. Just as her eyes fluttered shut, remembering each scintillating moment, the door burst open, and she dropped her spoon onto the table with a yelp. 

Sirius Black was incapable of just entering a room; he always had to stomp and toss his hair about as though he had a slew of fans waiting to watch him brood. “I’ve got word from Reg.” 

James was hot on his heels, looking a bit sleepy but less scathed than he’d been the month prior after Remus had thrown him into a tree. He winked and smirked at her from over Sirius’ shoulder. 

“Regulus? I didn’t realize you’d—” 

“Well, I did,” Sirius retorted, thrusting parchment between them. Hermione took it and read the simple missive silently. 

**This better be important.**

**Leaky Cauldron - 8 o’clock**

  
  


xXx

Hermione tapped her finger along the knotted tabletop in the Leaky, unable to quiet the sheer adrenaline coursing through her veins. Sirius sat silently, tension radiating off him like cigarette smoke while James’ hand was resting on her knee. She had to actively try to ignore the simple touch because the moment was too big for such silly things. 

His touch slipped, fingers curling around the back of her knee and squeezing firmly. At first, she thought he was getting a bit cheeky but then he jerked his head towards the door and rose to stand. 

Regulus entered, his jaw set, eyes dark and sharp. The three of them sucked in a quick breath as they noticed he wasn’t alone. Sirius said he’d told him to come alone. 

Lucius Malfoy sauntered in after, his chin lifted just high enough that he could peer down his sharp nose at the rest of the world along with two other cronies flanking him. Regulus scanned the room, his gaze landing on them as he made his way across the floor. The other three didn’t follow; they waited near the front of the establishment, Lucius’ lips curled in disdain. 

“Sirius,” Regulus stated quickly, “…and friends. Didn’t realize we were popping in for tea. You said you needed to talk; I didn’t know that required third parties.” 

“Funny you say that, little brother, considering the motley crew you’re keeping company with these days.” 

“What do you want?” the younger Black deadpanned as they took their seats. 

It seemed that the two Marauders at her sides were trying their best to keep the meeting casual even though they clearly felt as uncomfortable as she did. James draped his arm across her chair back, and Sirius fussed with his signet ring on his little finger. 

“Well, it’s really _ her _ that needs to talk.” 

Regulus cold eyes snapped to hers, his lip twitching.  _ “Her?”  _

“Yes,  _ her _ ,” James repeated with a huff. “And you’d do well to listen, Reggie.” 

Anxiety racketed around in her belly. She’d had a plan but the sudden Death Eater to Order member ratio left her head spinning. It wasn’t safe to speak freely. 

Slipping her wand into her palm, she quickly cast a  _ Muffliato _ and crowded towards the centre of the table. “I don’t know if we’ve had the chance to meet properly; I’m Hermione Granger. I—well, it’s all a bit complicated—and I can’t tell you all that much…” 

“Merlin’s tit,” Reg groaned, dragging a hair through his wiry hair. “Can you get on with it? Some of us have better things to do with our time than sit here prattling on.” 

Hermione bristled, her eyes flickering to the dark wizards by the door. Lucius was a Legillimens—a shoddy one, but one nonetheless. She quickly reformulated her plan into one that was thin and rushed. “Something’s going to happen in the next few months. Something with your house-elf, Kreacher.” 

Regulus’ eyes darted between the three of them, and he forced his features passive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Screwing her face up, Hermione silently admonished herself for not being more prepared. “I can’t tell you how I know, but it’s coming. When it happens—” she paused, gaze flickering to James then back to Regulus, “I can help.” 

A tense moment of quiet stretched on and was interrupted only by a sharp bark of laughter from the youngest Black. Then another. Then he was rocking back in his chair and teetering on hysterical. “You lot really ought to find better hobbies than these ridiculous pranks of yours and now getting this poor girl involved.” He clucked his tongue and pushed his chair back to stand. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” 

Before he could rise to his feet, Sirius’ hand shot out and gripped his brother’s left wrist, tugging him back to his seat without loosening his hold. “She’s not kidding, and I know you’re in a bind. You’re in too deep, brother, and I’m worried if you keep going I won’t be able to get you out.” 

Regulus tried to jerk his arm back to no avail as Sirius dragged him closer. “Back off, Sirius. You’re going fucking barmy.” 

“Am I?” Sirius’ free hand shot to his brother’s left sleeve, his fingers curling in the fabric until Regulus visibly began to falter, his breath coming in sharp pants as he tried to wrench his hand free. “And if I expose your forearm right now, what will I find?”

“Padfoot…” James warned. “We’re in public, and that scum by the door is staring.” 

“You’ll find nothing, you fucking wanker. Let me go!” Sirius' fingers loosened but he didn’t blink, his teeth slightly bared as Regulus smoothed his robes and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re losing it, Sirius. You ought to come home; these lot are no good for you.” 

“Be careful, Reggie. We just don’t want anything to happen to you,” James added in a low voice. 

With a final disdainful sneer to James and one for Hermione as well, Regulus stood abruptly. Hermione shot to her feet as he made to leave, a final desperate attempt as she called out for him. “I mean it! You should—you should come to me. I’ll be able to help.” 

Regulus scoffed and peered over his shoulder at her. “You can’t tell me what you know, or how you know, or how you’ll help. Yet you expect me to trust you? Forgive me,  _ Mudblood _ , but I’m rather disinclined to acquiesce.” 

Flinching as though she’d been slapped, Hermione fell back into her seat even as James and Sirius rushed to defend her honour. That was not what Hermione cared about, not really. The only thought in her mind was that she might have just genuinely mucked up her one real shot at retrieving the locket once and for all. 

“I wish I could say he was raised better than that, Hermione,” Sirius growled, running a hand through his wavy hair. “But he wasn’t.” 

Hermione waved it off just as Lucius turned directly to her—the prodding was there again, this time more gentle but still quite obvious. When she forbade him entrance to her mind, he smirked, tipping his chin in a mock bow. Then, they were gone and Hermione felt as though she could breathe again. 

“I think your brother is in trouble, Pads,” James mumbled, signalling for a round of drinks for the table. 

“Yeah, no fucking shite.” 

**_xXx_ **

**_A/N: Ah! My favorite day of the week! Update dayyyy! Thank you so much for reading and following along! I know WIPs are frustrating and the time travel might make your head spin but the support means the world to me._ **

**_Huge mega hugs and love to my now Brit-approved Alphabet: Farmulousa, Mcal, Ravenslight, and Nuclear Nik. PHEW! That’s right, this story needs a small army apparently and luckily I have the most talented and brilliant comrades in the biz._ **

**_Back in a few days! Thank you again!_ **


	19. Chapter 19

Marauder House

February 1979

The weeks continued on.

January bled into February and _still,_ Dumbledore had not agreed to a time to meet. She’d written her note in a rather casual tone, unwilling to sound like a complete and utter fool when asking about the plausibility of the existence of the Deathly Hallows. Still, she’d expected him to treat her mission here with _some_ urgency. From the Basilisk problem to him putting off their meeting, she couldn’t help but feel like an afterthought. 

She filled her time with potions and helping Alice and Molly around headquarters. Molly looked as though she was about to deliver Ron with a well-timed sneeze, and Alice’s slender frame was finally boasting the first signs of a swollen belly. Together, they’d started fussing out in the greenhouse when Alice felt up to it, putting Marauders to work with the heavy lifting. 

Hermione could have easily used magic but there was something delightful about watching James toss a bag of soil over his shoulder and saunter about the tiny glass room. Sirius, Peter, and Remus didn’t seem _as_ keen to help but they were a family; once in—in for life. They were a bit broken, quick to snap and push each other’s buttons, but brothers nonetheless. 

The greenhouse was nearly ready to be planted, the boxes _finally_ constructed and the supporting panels repaired. The space itself was lovely; tucked on the east side of the property, flanked with a tiny pond and a few angry geese. 

A few light knocks against the door behind her dragged Hermione from her thoughts, and she turned to find Alice there with a grin and a hand splayed protectively over her stomach. “It looks good!” 

Pride swelled in her chest, and Hermione nodded, surveying the space. This was something small and at least somewhat consequential that she’d managed to accomplish in her time here. They’d found one Horcrux; Lily had left—perhaps forever, and she’d gained the suspicions of Lucius Malfoy and Theodore Nott. But seeing something broken repaired, teeming with the possibility of new life come spring eased the ache in her chest. 

“I think she’s about ready,” Hermione said with a grin, turning back for the boxes. “Before you get too—well, too pregnant, I’ll need you to show me how in the world not to murder well-meaning plants.” 

Alice laughed and came up to stand next to her. “I’ll be happy to help! It’s only a matter of time before Moody tries to knock me down to desk duty because of this little one,” she said, pointing to her belly.

“You seem to be feeling a little better.” 

“Yes, quite! Molly on the other hand…” Alice grimaced and lifted an envelope before them. “It’s a howler, so I’ll save you the headache, but her healer has demanded she go on bed rest until the baby arrives.” 

The space between Hermione’s brows crinkled, her gaze snapping hard to her left. “Bed rest? Is she alright?”

“Well, Molly thinks she is.” Alice shrugged. “The twins arrived about six weeks early and while she’s certainly made it farther with this one, they have concerns. It _will_ be her sixth baby.” 

_Ron would be fine_ , Hermione reminded herself, but it did nothing to quell the anxiety rolling in her stomach. “Well, I can help around here more. I’d have done before but she always shooed me away… I’m not a _good_ cook but I could probably manage a bit.”

“That’d be lovely, Hermione. Thank you. Molly is most worried headquarters will fall into shambles in her absence. I’ve no idea what she planned on doing when she actually _had_ the baby.” 

“I can tell you now that time does little to change Molly Weasley. She is a force to be reckoned with.” Hermione tucked her chin and smiled. 

From the corner of her vision, she saw Alice shuffle and squirm. “You’ve never mentioned me.” 

A silent question wrinkled Hermione’s brow and when she turned, she found Alice with pink cheeks and a tight jaw. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean… you’ve mentioned off-handed things about a lot of us. Molly and Moody, the boys. But you’ve never mentioned me or Frank. Or—”Alice’s words cut off as both hands moved up to cradle Neville. 

“Oh, Alice…” Hermione didn’t think twice as she caught her friend in a fierce hug, releasing her only when she decided on something to say. “I try not to say much about anything, really. The reality that I know won’t exist anymore, so it feels wrong to tell people things that won’t happen.” 

“Is our baby okay?” Alice breathed, unable to lift her gaze from the dirt-packed floor. 

A slow smile spread over Hermione’s face, and she nodded quickly. “Yes. Yes, of course. Your child was my first friend on the train to Hogwarts and is one of the bravest Gryffindors I know.” 

Finally, Alice looked up, her toffee coloured eyes rimmed with unshed tears. “And Frank and I? Do we make it out of all this alive?”

She didn’t have to lie but still, her tongue went dry and heavy in her mouth. “Yes.” 

Grinning genuinely, Alice nodded and hugged tighter around her torso. “Okay. That’s all I need to know.” 

xXx

After a while longer fussing around in the greenhouse, James arrived. “There you are,” he’d whispered into her curls, nuzzling and curling around her as she was wrist-deep in soil. 

“Hello.” A smile broke out over her features, and she peeked back at him over her shoulder. “Did you have a nice day?”

“I had a terribly mediocre day. When I volunteered my time to Moody and Kings last month, I thought it’d be a bit more thrilling than standing on street corners looking for suspicious activity. The most exciting thing that happened in London today was that a boy pulled a girl’s ponytail to get her attention.” 

A laugh erupted from her belly, and she pulled a face as she looked back at him. “That sounds exactly like something you’d have done.” 

“Maybe.” Wagging his brows, he grinned before kissing her deeply. “What else do you need to do here? I’ll help.”

“After your long day of mediocre productivity you now want to help me here?” 

James shook his head sharply. “Absolutely not. But I do want to take you out for dinner and hopefully get you in a compromising position or two.” 

Folding her lips in, she fought a grin and swatted at him with her soiled hands. “You’re incorrigible… but fine. Dinner, but then I really need to read up on some of these so we can plant them. You’ll have to keep your nefarious intentions and compromising positions to a minimum.” 

“On my honour, love.” 

xXx

Hermione found that the longer she spent with James Potter, the more _aware_ she was of him. Even after a short amount of time, it was impossible to bloody focus. After her third read-through of a single passage on the magical properties of different poisonous flowers, she was struggling just to keep her eyes on the page. Despite the seemingly droll topic, Hermione actually found it to be quite interesting—that is until James had settled behind her. 

She was hyper-conscious of him, of the firm planes of his torso and the thick of his thighs pressed against hers. His hand was resting on her knee and while it didn’t move—didn’t so much as flinch—she couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

She was enamoured with his hands—large and strong, calloused from gripping a broomstick, and her mind wandered to what they would feel like touching her. _Really_ touching her. 

With a gulp, she shook her head free of daydreams about skilful fingers and hard grips, ignoring the ache between her thighs. Letting out a sharp exhale, she forcefully flipped the page and tried to read the following section. 

The fingers lingering on her knee tightened, and his stomach rumbled with a deep chuckle behind her. “Are you okay, love?” 

An angry tendon twitched in her throat, her mouth suddenly dry. _“Yes.”_

Another laugh and he readjusted them just slightly, closing his book and bringing his lips to her ear. “Because you’ve been reading that page for close to thirty minutes…” 

Hot breath fanned over her neck and a shiver skittered up her spine as he pressed his lips to the tender space just under her earlobe. She gulped. “Yes, quite alright. Just...” James’ fingers migrated from her kneecap to the crook just behind it, and he squeezed gently. “ _Distracted._ ” 

Tightening her fingers on the cover of her book, she allowed her lids to flutter closed as his tongue brushed against her neck, followed by another kiss and another. “James?”

He hummed in response, the vibration reaching the apex of her thighs, making her squirm between his legs. 

“I think…” He tasted her skin again, slowly and sinfully, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Her hand flew to the tops of his thighs, gripping what she could of him. “I think I want more.” 

“More?” he asked, smirking against her neck as his hand slid up the back of her thigh. “I need you to be more specific, Hermione.” His book fell to the mattress, and his now free hand slid around her waist, fingers splaying over her ribcage. 

A furious blush bloomed on her chest, inching up her neck and staining her cheeks. She was horrified to speak such things into existence but if she didn’t, she was sure she’d combust. “You can…” The words stuck in her throat, and she wiggled her bum out of sheer discomfort. “You could touch me… if you wanted.” 

Sucking on her pulse point, his fingers drifted higher, and she choked on a breath. 

“It’s never been a question if _I_ want to.” His words ghosted along her skin, and she couldn’t _breathe._

His hands began inching across her clothing, and she swore he could feel her heart slam against her ribs under his touch. “I want you to,” she breathed, the confession slipping from her lips like a prayer. 

“Good girl,” he praised her, lips brushing her skin. “Where?”

_“_ I don’t…” She screwed her eyes shut as his thumb grazed the side of her breast in slow rhythmic patterns. “I don’t know. No one’s ever— _I’ve_ never.” 

Cradling her jawline, he met her eyes, and she couldn’t help but think she must be the colour of an apple by now. But he didn’t remark on it, instead studying her features with lidded eyes before pressing his mouth to hers, his hand sliding to her breast and palming her firmly. Her breath was shuddered and shaky, and the hand on the back of her thigh drifted to the front, gripping her firmly. 

He drank her in until she was breathless and when she fell away to catch her breath, his hand slid down her torso. She braced herself, ready for someone to touch her just _there_ , but he quickly changed paths, sliding his palm under the fabric of her shirt and again finding her breast. With his lips latched onto her neck she found herself desperate to move but terrified to break the perfect moment. 

Her hand slipped around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and she squirmed, gasping when he sucked hard on the tendon of her throat. Flexing his hips, the thick hardness of him pressed against her back. The onslaught of sensation left her dizzy and outside her body, able to focus only on his touch as it seared up the seam inside her jeans. 

“More?” he breathed, tickling her neck, and she nodded eagerly, shifting her hips to encourage his touch. “Say it, Hermione. If you want more—” 

_“More_ …” She gasped as his fingers dug into her thigh. “More, James. I want more.” 

His lips demanded hers again, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as his hand cupped her sex. It was so much more—and nowhere near enough. With a firm touch, he rubbed mercilessly at her. 

A broken cry fell from her lips as she rocked against his hand. _“More.”_

Both of his hands worked furiously on the button of her jeans. She lifted her hips so he could tug them over her hips, quickly kicking them forcefully off. Massaging the tops of her thighs, he worked slowly towards her centre. 

He slipped down the front of her knickers, and she whined as he slid easily through her drenched folds. Embarrassment wasn’t sufficient enough for how she felt in this moment, at how wantonly aroused she was. He shivered as he found her centre, mumbling an unrecognisable expletive into the crook of her neck. 

He swiped his middle digit along her throbbing bud, and she keened and broke. He was playing with her, long lazy strokes that did nothing but edge her higher. Her nails buried in his curls, head falling back as he circled her entrance. “James…” It sounded like begging, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as he sunk one long finger inside her. 

Merlin, how had she gone all his time not feeling _this?_

This was _everything._

A second finger joined the first, and she couldn’t help but splay her thighs to allow him access, melting against his chest as he rocked the flat of his palm against her aching core. His free hand lifted the hem of her shirt, baring her stomach and bra, and she felt almost like a stringed instrument in his arms. He knew where to touch her and how; how to brush the pad of his thumb over her tight nipple as he assaulted her neck, jaw, and mouth with hungry kisses. 

That ache deep inside her sex coiled, hot and sinful, and she shifted under its heat, closing her thighs at the unfamiliar feeling. His hand left her breast only to widen her legs again, and he curled his fingers inside her at the exact moment his palm pressed against her mound and that coil in her released. 

Waves of pleasure rolled through her as she tightened around his fingers and clawed at his neck, lost in the complete and utter euphoria, a broken cry tearing up her throat. Her vision waned; she wanted nothing more than to resurface and yet, never wanted it to end. 

As the final crest of her orgasm faded, she grinned and choked on a laugh. She’d never— _never_ —expected that. James slipped his fingers from her folds, lazily sliding over her throbbing clit, and he leaned forward, gripping her hips and gently turning her. His fingers slid slickly over her hip bone from her own moisture and if she could have thought more, she’d have been mortified. 

With a few skilful manoeuvres, she was straddling his lap. Her arms twined around his neck, and she felt a little delirious in the wake of her first orgasm. As she sank down to his covered lap, his erection pressed between her folds, pressing on her drenched knickers.

His hands gripped the junction of her hips and rocked her once. They shared a moan, and he quickly captured her mouth as he pressed up into her, his fingertips digging into the flesh of her arse. 

Curling around him, she succumbed to the way he moved her with ease. Through slitted lids she was able to finally see him, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and head falling back.

With a loud groan, he tucked her knee and then rolled them swiftly so she was on her back, her knees hitching on his hips as he rocked his erection into her again and again. His hands continued memorising her, mapping out new trails over her skin, and with a final snap of his hips, he stilled. 

Their lips found each other, this time meeting in slow, deliberate presses. Hermione slipped her hand under the back of his shirt, tracing the taut muscles of his back. When their lips parted, his forehead fell to the mattress. She’d assumed he’d orgasmed but whatever it was that transpired was still hidden in his jeans. He mumbled a cleaning spell before rolling off her and tucking her in his side. 

“You’re perfect, Hermione,” James panted, pressing his lips to her forehead and then rising up to stare at her with starry eyes. “If there was a life where I didn’t know you—I wouldn’t want it.” 

Her heart clenched, and she clung to him, draping an arm over his waist. She didn’t say it, but she felt that way too—even if it made her the most selfish witch in the world.

xXx

A/N: Shorter chapter this week as you can see! This story is kind of set up in the beginning so that it’s a slower romantic build with lots of plot up until NYE, after that, you’ll find we get into their relationship as we slowly unveil the plot. Eventually, Jamione and the war will be _exactly_ where I want them. 

It may not feel like much is happening and changing in the horcrux/war part for a little while but they are! They may just go a little unnoticed for now but things are happening!

Biggest thanks to my British Approved Alphabet: Farmulousa, Ravenslight, MCal, and NuclearNik. It takes an army, y’all and these guys are the best! 

I hope you and yours are safe. If you’re in America, especially. These are uncertain times and we can only hope that real change is being sparked in the darkness. 

Xoxo

LK

  
  



	20. Chapter 20

February 1980

Longbottom Hall

Valentine’s Day. 

What a completely ridiculous idea. It wasn’t that she was a cynic or anything of the sort but every year that this blasted day arrived, she’d found it annoying at best. For the full fortnight before Valentine’s, the Gryffindor girl’s dormitory was enough to make her ears bleed and swear the day off in its entirety. 

However, James Potter had requested her company that Thursday evening, and it wasn’t until she’d noticed the date on the kitchen calendar that she’d put it together. 

She’d almost settled for the black dress—the simple one with the tie around the middle—but a thought burst to life as she remembered the _other_ dress still buried in her bag. The one she’d never intended to bring. 

When they’d abruptly left Bill and Fleur’s wedding, they had only what was on their backs and what she’d thought ahead to bring. Rifling elbow deep through the scattered belongings in her bag now, she sighed as she felt the wrinkled red chiffon and pulled it free. Her heels were buried in there as well, and she found them hidden in the back recesses. 

It hung a bit looser around her frame—even after months in the past she’d still not regained all she’d lost the year they’d been on the run—and getting the wrinkles out had taken more will power and magic than should be used on a single garment. But as it fluttered around the top of her knees, she found it to be more than worth it. 

She applied a bit of makeup on her face and ran some Sleekeazy in her riotous mess of hair. As she stared at the girl staring back at her in the mirror, she noticed a small rip in the chiffon. Lips flattening, she lifted her wand and repaired it as a memory floated to the front of her mind: the dress snagging on her necklace as she ripped it off in a dark corner of Tottenham Court Road when they escaped after the wedding. 

It’s only debut had ended disastrously. Steeling her spine, she lifted her chin and nodded at her reflection. Everything would get a fresh start in the past, this dress included. 

A knock startled her from her thoughts, and she turned to find Alice in the doorjamb, leaning with a sly smile. “Don’t you look lovely!”

“Oh.” Hermione blushed. “Thank you, Alice. It seems a bit silly to be going on a date during times like this—doesn’t it?” 

The witch snorted and waved her fingers flippantly. “Merlin, no. The one thing I’ve learned in all this mess is to do things when you have the time. If we wait ‘til it’s all over we might never get the chance.” 

The truth of that settled deep in her soul, and Hermione nodded, rising to her feet and slipping on her shoes. 

“And, if I may say,” Alice paused to grin, “there is a rather dashing young man downstairs who looks eager to take you on said date. I don’t think I’ve ever seen James Potter look so bloody nervous…”

“Nervous?” Eyes widening, Hermione felt her stomach flop. “Well, that makes two of us.” Which was utterly ridiculous because they were—well they were something. _Involved_ , at the very least. 

Alice ticked her chin to the stairs and then stepped aside so Hermione could sneak by. “Have fun!” She didn’t make it all the way down the stairs before the Auror was leaning over the banister and calling down, “ _And James Potter, you behave like a gentleman or so help me!”_

After another two steps, James came into view. _Merlin_. Tonight he was in black dress robes, although the jacket was shorter, cutting off at his hips instead of dusting the floor. He was sans tie, the top button of his shirt open with a thatch of trim chest hair showing, and a bouquet of red roses was in his hand. Pixies jumped to life in her belly at the sight of him, and she bit down on her bottom lip as she finished her descent. 

James pulled an appreciative face, whistling low and clutching a hand to his chest as though she was causing him heartache. With a laugh, she came to stand in front of him, swatting playfully at him. “Don’t tease me,” she warned, taking the flowers and smelling them deeply. “These are lovely, thank you.” 

With a shrug, he took them back and tossed them on the table in the foyer carelessly. She scoffed and was on the edge of admonishing him when his long arms banded around her waist and tugged her flush against him. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

Rolling her eyes, she fought a smile and brought her hands up to rest on his chest. “Now I know you’re being ridiculous.”

“No,” he said, hazel eyes dancing to life as his lips pulled into a grin. “I’m really not.” After a weighted moment that felt important, he leaned down to kiss her gently. 

He made to pull back but her fingers curled in his jacket, pulling him deeper for a just fragment of time before letting him go. They stayed close, foreheads pressed together, and she could see his grin through the fringe of her lashes. 

“What on earth do you have planned? We’re in a war, you know,” she breathed, shaking her head slightly. 

“Hah! Like a war would stop me from wooing my witch. Come on.” Threading his fingers through hers, he led her through the front door and past the wards. 

xXx

To no one’s surprise at all, James Potter was devastatingly charming on a proper date. Over a white linen tablecloth and a chocolate tart, he never took his eyes from her, not even as he sucked a bit of chocolate from the pad of his thumb. It was surprising how quickly and fully she found herself falling for him. While there were still parts of her that grieved for what would never be, the overwhelming parts of her found herself enamoured and greedy for his time. 

Over the course of the meal, they’d spent their conversation talking about their lives before the war had stolen their childhood. Hermione was careful not to mention names—or Harry—much at all, which made her contributions to the conservation more difficult. Still, he listened in rapture, reaching across the table and cradling her hand in his as she spoke, tracing his thumb over her pulse point. 

They jumped, breaking from their trance as the waiter dropped off the bill. James paid, shoving Muggle currency in the fold before rising and holding his hand out for her. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.” 

She’d have been cold from the frigid February air, the stubborn season refusing to relent under any circumstances, but James’ arm wrapped around her, hand settling on her waist. The soft blanket of a warming charm shrouded them as they crossed Westminster Bridge, the lights of London and Big Ben shimmering in the inky black sky ahead. 

James’ hand fell from her hip, tangling their fingers together and then bringing their joined hands to his lips. Her heart leapt in her chest and when he dropped their locked palms between them again, she moved without thought. Rising up on her tiptoes, she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, her fingers curling around the back of his neck.

His cheeks pulled into a quick smile before he returned the kiss, his thick arms circling her waist and pulling her higher. His hands parted, one of them sliding up her coat to cradle the base of her skull and the other travelling _just_ far enough south to be considered inappropriate. The hem of her dress lifted infinitesimally as he grabbed a fistful of the chiffon. 

Time and space and everything in between faded into nothing as she lost herself in the utter beauty of snogging James Potter. Her tongue swept across his lips, and he opened for her, their tongues brushing and dancing as they clung together in the winter air. Despite the chill, heat spread over her skin and coiled between her thighs when he turned them slightly so her bum rested against the railing of the bridge. 

Their lips parted and both of his hands fell to rest on the concrete behind her as their foreheads pressed together. 

On the grandest bridge, in the most beautiful city in the world, she _felt_ something give way deep inside her. It flooded her chest, like warm, golden light and words she never dreamed she’d say in her life danced on the tip of her tongue. At some point in the past few years, she’d resigned herself to never knowing real love—in actuality she’d resigned herself to death. Coming back was about second chances for everyone; she’d just never dreamed it would be for her too. 

But as the feeling solidified, settling in her chest with an unwavering purpose, she found she was desperate to keep it safe. Letting it free would expose its fragility to the world, and she wasn’t sure that losing what she had so recently found was worth the risk. 

“Hermione,” he breathed, his hands coming up to curl around her jaw and tip her face up to him. “I don’t normally… Well, it’s just that I feel like I’m starting—” 

“I know,” she offered, lips curling into a gentle smile. “Me too.” 

A mask of seriousness settled over his features. “I don’t want to be with anyone else.” 

A huff of disbelief burst past her lips, and she wrinkled her nose. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, James Potter?”

“If I am?”

It seemed completely ridiculous—but also endearing and perfectly right. “I’ve never been one before. I might not be very good at it.” 

A bright grin broke out on features before he quickly pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth and then guided her to turn so her back was pressed against his chest, the two of them looking out over the Thames silhouetted by the skyline of London. Ducking his head, he whispered into her curls, “Would you believe me if I say I’ve never had one? So we could learn together if you’d like.” 

Twining their arms together around her waist, she relaxed and nodded, a smile breaking free. “Okay, I could do that.” 

xXx

After the most romantic evening of her life, they arrived in a twist of magic on the lawns outside the wards of Longbottom Hall. James lingered, playing with her fingers. 

“Thank you for coming tonight. “I’ll confess I don’t have much intention of having more first dates, but I’m not as rubbish at it as Sirius would have me believe, I think.” 

Biting back a smile, she pushed a loose lock of hair back from his brow and kissed him quickly. “It was the most perfect night. Thank you.” 

“Goodnight, Hermione.” 

He took a few steps back, his lashes fluttering in a wink, and in a soft _pop_ he was gone. A hollow ached settled in her chest, and her face scrunched to one side in thought. It was late now and the cold air bit through her skin as she stood staring at the space he had just stood in for several minutes. 

Merlin, help her, but she was in love with the sod. 

Rolling her eyes, she focused on the place she wanted to be and followed after him in a column of magic. 

xXx

The house was nearly dark, only two windows filled with golden light. Sucking in a sharp breath, she crossed the lawn on her tiptoes, avoiding her heels sinking into the soft earth. She paused at the front door and lifted her hand to knock but it fell quickly to the knob and twisted. Slipping from her heels, she trod softly towards the door tucked down the hall and gulped before knocking. 

The door opened and with it, her breath caught painfully. It’d been minutes since she’d seen him, but her heart rejoiced. He hadn’t had time to change yet, his Oxford hanging open and jacket discarded but otherwise, he looked much the same as he had all night. 

“Hermione?” 

The anxiety of the moment pressed in on her vocal cords. “I didn’t want to say goodnight,” she confessed plainly. 

With a lopsided smile, he stepped aside to allow her entry. She’d been in this room— _slept_ in this room—but the air felt charged and electric. Her very magic danced under her skin, every nerve ending alive with its energy. 

“Do you want to stay over? I’d have asked earlier,” he said, “but I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” 

“Yes, please. But I didn’t—didn’t get anything to wear.” Her blush turned fevered. 

Void of his normal cocky swagger, James procured a white t-shirt from his trunk and offered it to her, his lips folding in a tight line. A head rush accompanied the wild rhythm of her heart, and she swore she could feel it in the back of her throat as she turned. Sweeping the curls off her shoulders, revealing the zip in the back of her dress, she waited. After five frantic beats of her heart, she could feel the warmth of him close to her back. 

More gently than she thought humanly possible, he released the zip. The air slid over her skin, and a single fingertip dragged over the ridges of her spine, only lifting as it skimmed the curve of her lower back. 

She wasn’t ready for sex—or maybe she was. No. No, she wasn’t. She’d never even seen an erection in real life how on earth could she—

Violently shaking her head to scatter her anxious thoughts, she shrugged from her dress, letting the fabric pool at her feet. When she’d dressed earlier that evening, she wasn’t sure that anyone would be seeing her knickers but it seemed a good practice to plan ahead. Now she was grateful for such forethought. They weren’t all that sexy—Hermione didn’t really own anything like that—but they were pretty, blush pink with simple lace trim. 

Her grip tightened on the t-shirt in her fingers before letting it go with a long sigh so it could join the red fabric at her feet. Slowly, she shuffled so she was facing him again, and while her gaze fought to stay trained at the floor, she forced her eyes up. James’ normally lovely pale hazel eyes were dark, his pupils blown and his lips parted as he stared at her skin. 

“Hermione…” He breathed her name and a trail of gooseflesh rippled along her skin when his hands came up to rest on her hips. 

“I don’t think I’m ready for… _you know._ But I want more.” 

His eyes snapped up to hers, the space between them crackling as he studied her. Still, he didn’t move, frozen with his warm fingers curling around her. It seemed it would be up to her. Gulping, she pushed his shirt from his shoulders and moved her fingers to the hem of his vest. Peeling it over his abdomen, his arms rose over his head, and she let her palms smooth along his warm skin. Staring at the ripples and ridges of his muscles, she found herself desperate to study him, to memorise the planes and paths of his body so she would never forget. 

Resting her palms on his chest, one splayed over his heart, she paused to cherish that one small moment before sliding her fingertips on the firm lines of his torso and a nasty scar on his side. While she explored his body with a tender touch, he remained stock still, his gaze burning into her cheek. As her touch drifted to the sharp cuts of his hips, his breath hitched and his muscles tightened. 

A confession played on her lips and before she could fight its existence, she allowed it to slip free. “I want to touch you.” 

James shook his head and broke his trance to dip his lips to her shoulder. “S’okay—I don’t need you to. I’m not in any rush, Hermione.” 

She sought his lips, capturing them for her own, pushing her tongue into his mouth. Large hands gripped her waist again, gliding to her arse and squeezing. She gasped as he yanked her forward, his erection hard against her hip. In a bumbling rush, she forced her hands between them and onto his belt. 

“I want to,” she said against his lips as she manoeuvered his belt free. “I just…I don’t know how.” 

She managed a glance up at him, and he looked almost pained. The thick muscles in his neck tightened and tensed as he swallowed and nodded once. With only the slightest tremble to her fingers, she freed the button on his trousers and slipped them so they were hanging off the curve of his bum. Eyes widening, she froze for a fragment of time, unsure how to proceed and terrified at the idea of him watching her flounder through her first interaction with an _actual_ prick. 

Thankfully, his hands moved to the sides of her face, sliding into her curls and bringing their mouths together. With each purposeful press of his lips, her nerves waned and when his tongue slid along her bottom lip she slipped her hand into his pants, fingertips brushing against his smooth skin. He dragged in a hiss through his teeth, pausing to manage a shuddered breath. 

She took that as encouragement and tugged the band down, freeing his cock. The curiosity of the moment got to her, and she chanced a quick glance down between them. Panic swelled in her chest at its size and rigidity, paired with heat pooling between her thighs. 

James kept touching her, sweeping his palms over her shoulders and the tops of her arms, then her waist and hips. He didn’t rush her, didn’t speak. With a soft tentative grip, she rounded her fingers around his shaft, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she stared in concentration. Peeking up through her lashes at him, she found him strained, holding back—holding still. 

“Like this?” she whispered, sliding her hand down to the base and then back up again. 

He nodded. “You can hold a little tighter if you want.” She obliged, and his knees nearly buckled, his fingers digging into her arse. “Yeah, just like that. You’re doing perfectly.” 

The praise emboldened her, and she worked her hand up towards the tip and then back down again. On the next rotation, she swiped her thumb across the tip and the small bead of moisture gathering there. With each of his laboured breaths, her own need edged higher. 

James stepped forward, the tip of him nudging her belly as he swept her curls aside and latched his lips onto her neck and began marking her, sucking and bruising, then laving the skin with his tongue to soothe the delicious tender ache. 

One of his hands drifted slowly to her shoulder, lingering there a moment before pushing the strap away. She gasped as he tested the weight of her breasts, massaging them once before taking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolling. Her head fell back, pumping him harder as he assaulted the juncture of her neck and shoulder with his mouth. 

His lips moved to her earlobe, tongue dragging up the shell of her ear. “You’re so perfect, Hermione. I can’t hold out much longer with you touching me like this. Fuck—” He groaned when she rolled her wrist, twisting around him gently before dragging back up. “That’s it… _just like that.”_

He didn’t quit moving as she worked, and she felt her bra fall away but couldn’t bring herself to mind much as she tried to press her thighs together to ease the throbbing in her sex. One hand slid to cup her mound over her knickers, and she cried out quietly and buckled. “I’m going to take care of you. I promise, my love—so close.” His voice cracked as he began thrusting into her fist.

Hermione wasn’t sure she could take it; she was so desperately in need of relief and all she wanted was _more_. Her free hand curled around his neck and pulled him impossibly closer, deeper… 

_More_. 

“I’m going to come,” he warned, and his mouth slanted over hers; a few seconds later warm liquid hit her belly as he stilled his hips and groaned against her lips. “ _Fuck_.” He muttered a cleansing spell, and she felt the stickiness on her belly disappear instantly.

Her sex was still pulsing with her own desire, and it took only a handful of heartbeats until James was in action again. Her hand fell away, and he tugged his pants up to cover him before taking her arse in his palms and lifting her easily. She yelped at the sudden move and then again as he dropped her against the mattress and fell over her, caging her with his thick arms and claiming her mouth for the countless time. 

_“James…”_

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promised. “Always.” 

His lips trailed down her jaw and shoulder to the swell of her breast, and as much as she wanted this—and _Merlin_ , she wanted this—she couldn’t help but feel the tension spread through her muscles. But James was patient, easing her nerves with each skilful swipe of his tongue and touch. He took her nipple between his lips as one hand slid down the expanse of her stomach, and she sucked in a lungful of air as he dipped his fingers inside her knickers. 

As he brushed her wet folds, he groaned against her skin. Parting her thighs just barely, he slid one finger inside her… then another. Her body jerked, her back arching off the mattress as he dragged them in and out of her, pulling out only to sweep his drenched fingers over the pulsing at her clit. His lips moved from her breast to the valley between her ribs and lower still until he was again sliding off the bed and to his knees. 

Her eyes snapped open, and she flailed wildly, propping up on her elbows as she stared wide-eyed at him. _Him—_ with the cocky smirk and a wink. “Do you trust me?” he said plainly, his brow arching. 

Hermione swallowed thickly. “Yes.” 

Pressing a kiss to her kneecap and then to her thigh, he worked methodically. With painfully slow movements, he slid her knickers down and past her ankles, then tugged her to the end of the bed. Hermione thought she might combust at any given moment and threw her arm over her clenched eyes in a desperate, vain attempt at disappearing. 

She could hear him chuckle, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was staring down the most intimate part of her body, she might have admonished him. All thoughts of ire vanished when he dragged a flat tongue up her slit. The hand previously covering her face darted to the top of his head and tangled in his wavy hair. His tongue pressed inside her as his thumb danced along her clit, and the onslaught of sensation made her keen, twisting and lifting her knees as he tried to close around his head on instinct. His free hand curled around the back of her thigh, opening her wide for him. 

His fingers replaced his tongue, curling and pumping in and out of her as he sucked and rolled her clit with his tongue. She couldn’t think, couldn’t control the rocking of her hips as she climbed higher, higher, _higher._ With a final swipe of his tongue and a twist of his fingers inside her, she came. Every fibre of her body and synapse in her brain thrummed, flooding her with white-hot magic. 

The next moments were indistinguishable; she could feel kisses back up against her stomach and along her neck, a warm body pressed into her side and fingers pushing her curls from her brow. Everything about her felt boneless and delightful all at once and as consciousness drifted back into reality, she curled into him, burying her face in his broad chest. 

An errant thought of trying to do this with anyone else—with Cormac or Ron—made her shudder and a mistimed laugh bubbled forward. Followed by another. And another. 

James stared down at her curiously, a smile twitching on the corner of his lips. “You ought not to do that. You’ll give a bloke a complex.” 

With another bright laugh, she inched higher on the bed and kissed him, ignoring the salty tang on his lips. “It’s not that. I just—I’m so happy I waited for you.” 

His features steeled a moment, smile waning and lips parting as if he were about to say something—but he didn’t. He kissed her instead. Long and deep, and before long the pull of sleep was strong, and they were dozing in each other’s arms. 

xXx

**A/N: I forgot how much fluff and smut was in this chapter! I hope it wasn’t too boring. I promise the war isn’t looming all that far off haha**

**I love all of your support and encouragement, kudos, hits, reviews— all of it! So thank you endlessly.**

**Big shout out to my BritishAlphabet: Farmulousa, NuclearNik, Ravenslight, and MCal. You guys are incredible!**

**See you all in a few days! Stay safe and healthy!  
  
**

  
  
  



	21. Chapter 21

February 1980

Marauder House

Hermione woke enveloped by James, her cheek resting on his bare chest while their limbs were tangled with the sheets. Blinking awake, a sleepy smile formed on her lips, and she leaned forward to press her lips to his. He stirred, tightening his grip around her, and she kissed lower on his neck, then his collarbone. With a hum, he shifted and she felt  _ him _ against her belly. 

Fingers trailing over the ridges of his abdomen and the flat planes of his chest, she couldn’t help but be entranced by him. Curiosity piqued, she allowed her hand to travel further south, gripping him through the fabric of his pants. A moan slipped from his lips as she gently rolled him onto his back and kissed down the valley of his abdomen. 

He stilled. “Hermione?” 

Sliding down his body, she nestled herself between his strong thighs and peeled the garment away. With a gentle touch, she studied him, stroking down his shaft with her fingertips, relishing in the hiss he dragged between his teeth and the way his body tensed. 

Just because she was inexperienced didn’t mean she hadn’t done her research. While she boasted no firsthand knowledge, she had listened in horror as Lavender recounted the first time she’d gone down on Ron fifth year. Somehow, this had made Lavender the resident expert and it became quite the topic in the dormitories. As such, Hermione knew the fundamentals: no teeth, relax your jaw, utilise your hands. 

However, the practical application was more terrifying than any theory when staring down an erection. James didn’t move, always patiently awaiting her next move, and when she leaned forward to press a kiss just  _ there _ , he moaned. 

Peeking up through her lashes at him, she gulped once. “Will you tell me if I do it wrong?” 

His jaw remained hard and cut, his throat tense, but his gaze softened. “That’s not possible.” 

With a resolving nod, she gripped the base of him and slipped the tip between her lips, tasting him for the first time. An expletive whispered through the air from above as his hand came down to bury in her curls. She let her tongue explore a bit, her hand repeating the same motion as last night, but she quickly found she didn’t really know what to do. A strange fear of not being good at it—of not being as good as another witch—churned in her belly, and she popped off his penis with a glower. 

“Tell me what to do; I want to learn.” 

A disbelieving laugh burst forward, his eyes rounding. “You’re doing—” 

“Please,” she whined, pumping him slowly as she stared up at him. “I don’t like not knowing how to do it properly, and I want to make you feel as good as you make me.” 

“You do, Hermione.” 

_ “Please?” _

An almost irritated growl rumbled from his chest, and he choked back a laugh and nodded. “Okay, just try and take a little more into your mouth if you can but don’t overdo it. You might gag yourself.”

Hermione rolled her eyes obscenely.  _ Cocky git.  _ But she did as she was instructed and rose up to take more of him in her mouth, sliding down his shaft as her hand rose up to meet her mouth. 

“That’s—” His voice was strained. “That’s fucking perfect. You can suck—Fucking hell, yes. Just like that, love.” Tightening his grip in her curls, he began gently thrusting, meeting her in tandem. At the sound of his pleasured noises, she felt liquid coat her sex. Squirming, she began to work quicker on him, hollowing her cheeks as he brushed the back of her throat and with a furrowed brow, she tested herself, taking him deeper. 

To her extreme displeasure, she did gag a bit, but found it not as violent as she’d have imagined—so she tried again. 

“You’re so perfect,” he praised, his back arching as he gripped her curls a little tighter. “Tell me if it’s too much—I just can’t get enough of you.  _ Fuck. _ ” 

His words of affirmation dripped over her skin, and she pumped him furiously, her jaw beginning to tremble from the effort. “I’m going to come, Hermoine.” He reached down and pulled her off his cock. She yelped in surprise as he instructed her, saying, “Keep going with your hand.” 

From this vantage point, she was on her knees between his thighs, watching his face transform and his muscles tighten. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect. But then he came, white liquid shooting onto his abdomen, and Hermione watched on in a mix of awe and studious appreciation. 

It was rather odd, she found, but something about the look of his face when he came undone by her touch and the grip of his fingers digging in her thigh turned her on even more. She gave him a final pump and let him go, watching him turn boneless in relief. 

He took a moment, just one, and leaned up to grab the hem of her t-shirt. In a single quick movement he lifted it from her shoulders, his chest still heaving, and wiped his stomach free of the sticky mess left in the wake of his orgasm. As he did so, his abs flexed beautifully, and Hermione couldn’t bring herself to focus on much else, even though she was now shirtless in front of him. When he finished, he smirked up at her and grabbed her by the waist. 

He lifted her with ease, settling her knees on either side of his chest and began to scoot down the bed until his head was between her thighs. 

“Oh! Oh, nonononno— _ Ahhh.”  _ Her words were cut short as he slipped her knickers to the side and ran his tongue along her seam. “James... _ Merlin. _ ” All reasonable thought left her as he easily pressed two fingers inside her wet folds and began dragging in and out in lazy thrusts, his tongue dancing over her clit. 

A rough hand tugged at her hip, and she settled further on his face, crying out as he reached new depths inside her. 

Who needed sex? 

Truly? Because this was so much more than enough. She could do this every day for the rest of her life with no qualms whatsoever, and there was zero possibility that anything felt better than  _ this. _ He did something with his fingers, twisting and curling, and her hands shot off her thighs to grip the headboard as she sank even lower. 

“You taste like heaven, love.” His lips brushed against her clit as he spoke, and she dug her nails into the wood and rocked once. “I love it that you’re ready like this for me. Only for me.” Curling his fingers again, he flicked his tongue over her clit, and she shattered, her entire body tensing as a wave of pleasure coursed through her. She couldn’t move except to hold herself upright as his fingers tickled back and forth inside her, drawing every last ounce of her orgasm from inside her. 

Finally, when the feeling had waned, she fell to the side of him, panting and delirious. The mattress dipped underneath her as he came up to her side—grinning. 

Realisation crashed over her, and she jammed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. “Oh my god. I’ve just sat on your face. Oh my—” Groaning, she rolled onto her side and grabbed a pillow to suffocate herself with. “I’m going to die now.” 

“What?!” A laugh spilled from his lips and he rolled on top of her, stealing her weapon of choice and staring down at her as though she were some adorable woodland creature and not like someone who had just fucked his face.

“I’m horrified. I shouldn’t have—” 

“Hermione, that was the sexiest moment of my life, and I want to do it every day,” he paused to kiss her cheek and then the other, “every hour—” He kissed her nose. “For the rest of my life. I will happily die eating your—” 

“JAMES!” Hermione barked out a laugh and swatted at him as he captured her mouth in a crushing kiss. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispered when their lips parted. 

Grinning, she bumped her nose against his. “You’re incorrigible.” 

“Will you spend the day with me?” As he spoke, his gaze roved her features and his fingers pushed the curls from her brow. 

“Yes,” she said, pulling him in and kissing him senselessly.

xXx

It was odd travelling from the romantic evening before to the normalcy of a Friday in Diagon Alley. They walked the shops hand in hand, pausing to poke at various items. As they worked their way through the aisles of Flourish and Blotts, she paused when she came to a biography on Rowena Ravenclaw. 

Dumbledore had noted that he thought Tom Riddle may be hunting down artefacts from the founders to turn into Horcruxes. 

Replacing the book, she made a mental note to scour the library at headquarters for more information and turned to find James studying the ceiling with great interest. Grinning, she asked, “I take it this isn’t your favorite store on Diagon?”

“It is decidedly not.” He scratched his jaw and turned to regard her with a smirk. “But then, I’m here for the company so it’ll do.” 

With a huff, she closed the distance between them. “How about twenty more minutes here and you can pick what we do next?” 

His arms banded around her, and his smirk widened. “That’s giving me an awful lot of power, Hermione. I could think of any number of salacious activities to fill our afternoon.” 

Just as she was swatting and about to reprimand him, a sharp clearing of a throat tore her from the moment. They both turned and stilled at the sight of Lucius Malfoy, this time very much alone. 

“Miss Granger, is it not?” he drawled icily, his eyes glacial as he ignored James at her side. “I was wondering if I might have a word?”

Adrenaline spiked in her system, and Hermione felt suddenly hyper-aware of her surroundings, on James’ hand tightening on her hip and his chest hitching. 

“What do you want, Malfoy? Death Eater revel at the Leaky?”

Lucius’ lip curled as he finally turned to James, and Hermione had the strangest sense of déjà vu. She’d been privy to a Potter-Malfoy showdown before. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure,” James said, his mouth curling into a smile. Taking a dangerous step towards the blond, his hand fell from her hip, and his voice lowered. “It’s only a matter of time before you slip up, Lucius. I hope I’m there when they arrest your sorry arse.” 

“Careful, Potter.” 

Both wizards glared the other one down but where Lucius was cool and collected, James was heated and eager to push buttons. “I always am.” Without taking his eyes off Malfoy, James spoke over his shoulder to her. “Love, do you have interest in taking a meeting with this prick?”

Sniffing, she tilted her chin in the end, ignoring the way it trembled. “Not particularly. Was there something you needed?”

At that Lucius turned to her, a Cheshire grin spreading on his thin lips. The resemblance between him and his son was undeniable but Lucius had even pointier features. The thin skin under his eyes was nearly translucent and his cheekbones high and aristocratic. He had the uncanny ability of speaking down his nose to her no matter how his head was positioned, and it made her lift her chin higher still. 

“A question, actually. Where did you go to school? I can’t seem to place you from Hogwarts and though I’d be a bit older, surely I wouldn’t have forgotten you.” Faux charm oozed from his pores and it made Hermione bristle. “You don’t seem to be a Beauxbatons witch—nor Durmstrang or Castelobruxo. Your accent isn’t diluted so I wouldn’t think Ilvermorny.” 

James scoffed. “You seem to care a great deal, Malfoy. What are you on about?”

“It’s a simple question.” All amusement had been drained from Lucius’ voice and features, and his silver stare didn’t waver. 

“I was taught at home by a governess.” 

Something wicked flickered over Lucius Malfoy’s features. “A governess? How lucky that you—as a _ Muggle _ —would be able to find a magical governess who would teach you. Any of them worth their galleons are hoarded away by the Sacred Twenty-Eight.” 

“Guess I’m lucky.” She shrugged, hoping for nonchalance though her heart was thundering in the cavern of her chest. “We ought to be going I think…” 

James' hand quickly captured hers, and he stepped past Malfoy without another word. But before Hermione could cross, Lucius’ walking stick slammed into the wooden bookshelf next to her head, halting her. 

“The  _ fuck _ , Malfoy!” James let go of her hand and shoved him away, earning a feral snarl from the blond. 

Lucius turned to Hermione, his peaceful demeanor shaken. “There is no registered adult witch in England by the name Hermione Granger. Who did you steal that wand from, Mudblood?”

“Excuse me?” Hermione balked, her mind failing her as she grappled with the accusation. “I got this wand from Ollivanders when I was eleven years old, as witches do.” Her voice shook as she fought back tears. She could handle most anything Malfoy could send her way but being humiliated like that in front of James was almost too much. She felt shameful about her heritage although she knew there was no reason to. 

On trembling legs, Hermione made to leave but was halted again by Malfoy’s taunting drawl. “I know something’s off about you, Mudblood. I’ll figure you out and have your wand snapped in the Wizengamot all in due course.” 

Hot tears pressed in on the backs of her eyes, but she remained strong. 

“Done, Malfoy?” James sneered. Jerking at his robes, Lucius fussed before offering a withering, apathetic gesture at the pair of them.  _ “Brilliant.”  _ Faster than Hermione thought possible, James had cocked his fist back, throwing his weight into a punch that reverberated throughout the quiet bookstore. Lucius Malfoy fell in a heap of robes and wails. 

Hermione choked out a laugh before clamping her palm over her mouth and staring in horror at the sight in front of her. 

“Talk to my girl like that again and I’ll give your arse the beating you should have gotten at school, you poncey fucking prick.” James shook his hand free of the inevitable sting and then grabbed Hermione’s hand to leave. 

“You’ll pay for that, Potter!” 

Hermione chanced a glance back at the wizard still sprawled on the floor, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth and snarling at their backs. James didn’t respond, however, rounding the stacks with his middle finger lifted and tugging Hermione behind him. 

As they crossed the threshold of the shop, Hermione sucked in a desperate breath of icy air and reeled on James. “What on earth were you thinking? You can’t just do that to Lucius-bleeding-Malfoy! He’s a Death Eater!”

Scoffing, James pulled a face and began walking again. “Yeah? So? I’m an Order Member. Those Death Eaters are nothing more than bullies and terrorists. He wouldn’t dare try anything—” 

Hermione’s arm shot out, fingers curling in robes as she halted him. “He  _ does _ try something. Many somethings. He’s not convicted in this war but he is in the next. Still, he escapes from Azkaban and…” The words died on her tongue, and she sagged as the adrenaline waned from her bloodstream. “He’s very dangerous, okay? I know firsthand; I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

James smiled and kissed her once. “Nothing is happening to me, alright? I’m James Potter.” His smile widened to a grin. “It’s going to take a lot more than prissy little Lucius Malfoy and his manicured wand hand to take me down.” 

Yes, it would. It would take a lot more. 

xXx

Alastor Moody was possibly  _ more _ terrifying under these circumstances than the Moody she knew. Tattoos stained his skin all the way down to his knuckles and the full use of both eyes left him free to glare at her. With his fingers steepled against his lips, he sucked a hard breath. “So, you’ve caught the attention of Lucius Malfoy—who you claim is a Death Eater but you have no proof—and you need me to forge registration documents to avoid further suspicion?”

Hermione grimaced. “Um, well yes. It sounds rather bad when you say it like that though.” 

“It  _ is _ rather bad, Miss Granger.” Moody’s eyes narrowed before he let out a tired sigh and dropped his hands to his desk to pick up a long, black-feathered quill. “Wand specifics?”

She gingerly placed the wand on the desk. “It’s vine wood, ten and three-quarters.”

“Core?”

“Dragon heartstring.” At her side, James tucked his chin and hid a smile but remained silent. 

“Do you need to register yourself as an Animagus?” Moody paused to glare for a long moment at James who folded his lips inward, eyes bulging. Then, he continued, “Have you passed your Apparition practical? And would you like to claim any O.W.Ls or N.E.W.Ts?”

“I am not an Animagus, and I can Apparate. I wasn’t able to take my N.E.W.T.s due to the war, unfortunately. During my fifth year I received eleven O.W.L.s. Ten O’s and—” She wrinkled her nose. “—one E.” 

Moody paused, eyes flickering up at her in disbelief. “Really?”

She tried not to take it personally, but her spine steeled and straightened. “Yes,  _ really.  _ I enjoy academia.” 

With a long sigh, the Auror continued. “Birthday? Blood status?” 

After answering the remaining questions, the room fell nearly silent. The only sound left was quill against parchment. Finally, when Moody seemed to have finished, he set it down and again brought his joined fingers up to his lips. “I’ll get this taken care of for you immediately.” 

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your help.” Gathering her wand, she rose, James following shortly after. Before she’d made it to the door, Moody called out to her. 

“You’d do well to keep your distance from the Malfoys. If you’re hoping to move quietly as you acquire your trinkets, I’d keep your nose down. And Potter—did you think more on what we talked about?”

The air stilled, and James sucked in a sharp breath. “A bit. I’ll have an answer for you shortly.” They made their way from the Auror office and once in the lift, James mumbled, “Sorry, he’s such an arse. I wish I could say he wasn’t always so bad but he is.” 

“What did he mean at the end there?” 

Chewing on his lip, James rocked back on his heels. “They want Sirius and I to come on as Aurors. They’d expedite the training course for us.” 

Blinking, Hermione considered the simple statement. “You weren’t an Auror.” End of. She knew it for a fact, actually. The lift ground to a halt and more people filtered on; James and Hermione were herded to the back corner. 

“What?” He laughed and the sound frustrated her.

“You were never an Auror. You didn’t work after Hogwarts. Don’t you think it’d be an unnecessary risk with everything else going on?” She was being ridiculous but she’d only just found the git; she wasn’t ready to send him out there with a brigade of wizards catching the very people she’d just been ordered to hide from.

James huffed in surprise, his brow twitching. “I  _ never _ work? I mean, I know I don’t  _ have  _ to, but I’d get bored as hell sitting around—” 

_ Too far.  _ She’d said too much. 

Something must have flashed across Hermione’s face as she inhaled sharply through her teeth. The voice overhead announced the Ministry Atrium and without a word she began working her way through the throngs of people. James remained stoically silent until they were stepping back onto Diagon Alley. The air was nearly frigid with a soft drizzle falling around them, dampening her curls. 

“Hermione?” She walked on, refusing to pause in case she put her foot any farther in her mouth. “Hermione!” 

“What?” She wrung her hands together painfully as she marched towards nowhere in particular. 

James stopped, throwing his hands up in the air.  _ “Hermione, would you just stop?  _ Talk to me!” 

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she halted midstep. This was a conversation she’d avoided since she’d met him, and she didn’t want to have it now. 

“Tell me whatever it is you are trying to hold back! I can tell it’s bothering you; I can handle it.” 

Shaking her head, Hermione silently thanked the universe for the misty day, praying it camouflaged the tears. “I can’t, James.” 

“Hermione, whatever it is, it’s not going to happen. That’s why you’re here, right? We’ll fix this—together.” 

Nodding, she shifted on her feet. There was nothing more that Hermione wanted than that, but to save everyone, to make sure they all made it out on the other side with far fewer casualties wasn’t going to be possible. She’d still lose people because this was still war. Even considering losing James caused an endless ache in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t bring herself to even speak the words into existence. 

“What? I’m dead—is that it?” His voice was nonchalant but when her gaze snapped up, she could see the fear etched into his features. 

“It’s complicated.” It was a weak attempt at side-stepping, and he snorted loudly, canting his head to the side with a frustrated glare. “I can’t talk about it, James.” 

“Can’t?” he asked, brow arched high. “Or won’t?” 

Shrugging, she gave him a watery smile and reached for him. “Does it matter either way?”

Silence stretched on as they stood in the soft London rain together, and his large hands gripped the tops of her arms before he sighed and relented. “Come on,” he said finally. “Let’s get you home and into something dry.” 

Nodding, they made their way to the Apparition point in silence. She’d bought herself a little more time, but eventually, she was going to have to tell James about October 1981. 

xXx

**A/N: Howdy and hello! Hope this weeks update finds you well and happy and safe. I had a lot of fun with this chapter and I hope you all enjoyed it! Things are about to start moving (although, remember this is a very long story..)**

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**See you in a few days my darlings!**

**Stay safe!**

  
  



	22. Chapter 22

March 1980

Longbottom Hall

The warmth of the fire kissed her skin as Hermione lay sprawled out on the sofa. It’d been a slow few weeks with little to do; Marley had taken a job at the Leaky and James was still helping unofficially at the Auror office. As far as she knew, he hadn’t made an official decision about accepting a position, and Hermione was too terrified to broach the subject. 

It’s not that she didn’t want him to have something of his own in times such as these—she could see them all getting restless—but if only it was something a little _less_ dangerous _._ She pondered it time and again, but if she’d never come back, he likely would never have found something else because Lily would have already announced her pregnancy. He’d likely be married. 

Shaking her head free of the thoughts, she returned her attention to the biography of Rowena Ravenclaw. It was the _fourth_ one she’d read in the last fortnight and nothing yet stuck out to her as a possible Horcrux. The obvious answer would be to talk to Dumbledore about his musings, but she _still_ hadn’t been able to secure a meeting with him. 

“Hermione?” A small voice broke through the quiet room, and she jumped from her spot, clutching at her heart. 

“Oh, Alice! You frightened me.” A laugh chased her words, and she readjusted in her seat. “How are you?”

The witch bit back a smile. “Molly has requested your presence at the Burrow.” 

“Me?”

_“You._ The Floo’s connected if you’d like, or I can take you.” 

A tangle of nerves settled in her gut. In the past month, Hermione had taken to making sure headquarters was fully stocked with food for wandering Aurors and Order members, even going so far as to make a pasta bake or a tray of sandwiches a few times a week. Sure, it was nothing compared to what Molly was capable of, but hopefully, she’d not upset the witch in some way. 

“Did she mention when?”

The corner of Alice’s lips twitched. “Immediately.” 

xXx

The Burrow was much the same, only _louder_. As she stepped from the sitting room, a pair of toddling twins stumbled by, and she could hear the telltale sounds of the eldest two Weasleys assaulting each other in a far off room. Arthur bounded around the corner with a wailing Percy in his arms and a grin on his face. 

“There you are, my girl! How are you today?” Bouncing Percy on his hip, he dodged Fred—or was it George?—as the tyke barrelled into his kneecaps. “Molly was hoping you’d pop up to see her. She’s in our room—second floor, door at the end of the hall if you could manage. I’ve got to feed the brood.” 

“Oh. Um, yes. Yes, of course.” She turned for the hall but abruptly paused. “Is everything alright? I haven’t done anything, have I?”

Arthur’s blue eyes sparkled, happy wrinkles appearing. “Go on. She’s waiting.” 

With every step Hermione pondered her impending doom. Visceral memories of the many times she’d earned Molly’s ire and cold shoulder flooded her mind and as she stopped in front of their bedroom door, she felt very much like retching on her own shoes. 

She counted four long breaths and knocked. 

“Come in!” 

Sporting a twisted grimace, Hermione pressed the door open and peeked inside. Molly was propped up in bed with a lopsided smile, hands folded over her lap. The windows were mostly closed, just a few streaks of afternoon sun cutting across the wood floor. 

“Hi, Molly. I heard you wanted to see me?” Merlin, her voice trembled worse than it ever had before, and she closed her hands into tight fists just to keep them from shaking. 

“That I did.” Molly’s eyes narrowed, and she gestured for her to enter. “I have a bone to pick with you.” There it was, the nail in her coffin. “You lied to me.” 

“L-lied?”

Humming, Molly reached into the bassinet next to her bed—a bassinet Hermione was just now noticing—and lifted a small swaddled infant from its confines. “You told me I’d have my girl. So you’d imagine my confusion when this little boy came into my world early this morning.” 

Hermione gasped, hands flying to her mouth. What was the date? It wasn’t the first was it? Hermione was sure it was still—

“Meet Ronald Bilius Weasley.” A proud grin broke out over Molly’s features. “Who is decidedly _not_ a girl—although, you promised me otherwise.” 

A tear streaked down Hermione’s face, and she choked on a laugh as she crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed. “To be fair,” she began, “I only promised you _would_ have a girl—I never said when.” 

Realisation slammed into Molly and she groaned. “Sweet, Merlin. _Will I ever stop having children?”_

Hermione’s laughter died away as Molly deposited the newborn in her arms. Her breath caught painfully as the complete and utter surrealness of the moment overwhelmed her. _He looked like Ron_. Which was probably a ridiculous connection to make but—he did. He had the same button nose and thin lips, and though he had little in the way of hair and none in the way of freckles, she’d know that face anywhere. 

“He’s so perfect, Molly. Congratulations.” 

“Thank you.” Reaching forward, the experienced mum gently cradled the top of Ron’s head, lost in love with her youngest son. “The twins seem rather apathetic towards him, and Percy is still crying over _another_ baby. But the older boys seem keen on him. So that’s something.” 

Lips curling in a smile, Hermione rested her hand on Ron’s chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his lungs. “Ron is my one of my best friends, you know?” Molly stilled but didn’t speak. “He’s a master at wizard’s chess and he made the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a Keeper last year. He’s _obsessed_ with sweets—with food of any sort, really. For a while, I’d thought maybe he and I might…” The words trailed off as memories crashed into her again and again, her throat impossibly tight as she attempted to swallow her feelings away. “Silly childhood fancies.” 

_“You_ fancied Ron?” Awe and disbelief were painted over Molly’s delicate features, and Hermione laughed outright then hummed her assent. 

“Well, I’d like to think it was mutual, but it wasn’t a good time for such things. He’s been a wonderful—albeit at times _frustrating_ — friend.” New tears coated her cheeks and a broken sob burst forward as she held Ron a little tighter to her chest. “I’m sorry; I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” 

Molly’s hand moved from Ron to Hermione’s arm, her thumb running a soothing track on her forearm. It was the simplest of gestures, but it reminded Hermione painfully of her own mum, and she broke out into a near-hysterical cry. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Yes,” she choked out, shaking her head back and forth a few times. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry—I just miss him so much. I miss everyone.” Hermione gave a final gentle squeeze to Ron before handing him back to his mother. 

“I’m sure this is all so strange…” 

Hermione snorted, dragging the back of her hand across her wet cheeks. “You’ve no idea just how much so. The longer I’m here the more I’m losing my life before. I—I don’t want to forget them.” Her voice was broken and jagged, and fighting off a new round of tears, she buried her face in her palms. 

Molly’s fingers squeezed tight around Hermione’s arm, reassuring her. “You won’t, Hermione. I promise.” 

“I’ll leave you to rest, Molly.” Swiping the tears from her face, she jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry for ruining this moment for you.” 

“Oh, dear, you haven’t! You have given me such a gift by telling me about my sweet boy. Come back soon, yes?”

Nodding, Hermione found herself feeling out of sorts and leaned down to give Molly a half hug before rushing from the room and the Burrow itself. 

xXx

Her emotions were becoming increasingly hard to catalogue. Constantly interweaving and tangling, they were impossible to make sense of. It was an unnerving feeling. Guilt seemed to be the most overwhelming of them all, blanketing her and dragging her into nothingness. If she was happy, that made her a monster. What person in their right mind could be happy knowing their best friend would never be born? 

In a flurry of a too-hasty Apparition, she landed on James’ lawn. He was meant to be in London and she wasn’t sure when he was supposed to be back for the day but she desperately needed to see him. If nothing else but to remind her that some good might yet come of it all. 

The house was quiet, and her heart ached. He wasn’t here. A broken sob burst free, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she walked idly forward. Maybe she’d wait a bit; she ought not Apparate anyway. 

She made her way to the back porch, appreciating the chill in the air and the way it burned in her lungs. Clenching her eyes shut, she forcefully pushed the thoughts from her mind. But try as she might, they crashed into her again and again. 

The door behind her creaked open, and she turned, hoping for James. 

It was Peter. “Hermione? Are you okay?”

With clattering teeth, she nodded near violently. “Yes—of course.” Another sob tore free, and Peter quickly wrapped her in a hug. “No… I’m not okay. Not at all.”

Peter released her, holding her at arm’s length with a worried crease to his brow. “What happened?”

“Nothing really, I suppose. But Ron was born today and...I mean, you don’t know him, of course, but I do, and I can’t help but think of how much different his life is going to be because of what I’ve done.” 

“That’s a _good_ thing—right? That’s why you’re here.” 

Burying her face in her palms, she cried for a few long moments before turning her watery gaze back at him. “What kind of person is happy when they’ve cost people so much? I’m _happy_ , Peter. Lily and James are supposed to be together; they’re supposed to have Harry. I _know_ that and still, I’m happy. I’ve stolen things from people that they will never be able to get back and seeing Ron today—I can’t bear it.”

“Hermione, that’s not at all—” 

“ _It is, Peter!_ That’s exactly what I’ve gone and done. I’m playing hard and fast with people’s futures—with their lives. I’m playing God and it’s not at all what I intended when I agreed to this. And _Dumbledore_ ! Don’t even get me started on Dumbledore—the insufferable man won’t get bleeding back to me! I know he’s busy and all that but why in the actual hell did he pick me? _Me?_ I’m eighteen years old—for Christ’s sake. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be…” Her hysteria took over, wrenching sobs stealing her breath. 

Peter seemed unsure what to do with a blubbering witch, settling for patting her shoulders and grimacing when she wiped tears and snot from her face. She barrelled into him, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face in his chest. After a long moment, he returned the gesture. 

“You’re helping, Hermione. I promise you are.” Resting his chin on the top of her head, she allowed herself this incredibly strange but much-needed comfort. “And I’ve never seen Jamie so bloody happy. He’d have been miserable as a young dad and him and Lily would have eventually ripped each other’s heads off. It would have been just awful.” 

A surprising laugh burst free from her chest, and she shook her head as he squeezed her once for good measure. Merlin, help her. Peter Pettigrew was her friend. Of all the impossible bloody notions... 

When she pulled away, her sobs had quieted, and she managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Peter. I’m going to head home and set to work on some potions, I think. Will you tell James I stopped by?”

“Of course. You can wait if you want; he should be here soon. It’s a full moon tonight so he won’t be all that late.”

Features crumbling, Hermione felt her heart clench. She’d forgotten. “No, that’s alright. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Have fun, Peter.” She turned to walk past him and as her hand closed around the doorknob, he called out to her. 

“Hermione? Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Swallowing a thick blanket of emotion, she nodded once. “I will be.” 

xXx

The light of the full moon streaked through her windows, pale moonlight covering her legs as she tossed restlessly. Hermione’s mind was always a mess of wandering thoughts and anxieties but something felt _more intense_ tonight. Kicking the tangled sheets away from her body, she abruptly sat up, glowering. It was near one o’clock in the morning and sleep was nowhere in sight. 

Grabbing her jumper, she left her room simply for something to do and padded down the stairs barefoot. Walking past the library and through the kitchen, she stepped out into the chill of early March, the fine hairs on her body stiffening. Staring out onto the massive lawns and the woods at the fringe of the estate, she felt _something_. 

A shadow moved, just barely; squinting, she tried to make sense of it. The shadow took form, emerging from the tree line, and her breath hitched. 

It was a stag—broad and thick, with proud antlers and a purposeful stride. 

_James._

A grin curled her lips, and she made her way barefoot across the grass. As the stag got closer, she couldn’t move. So slowly she found herself growing impatient, he approached her, dropping his snout and nudging her gently in the belly. 

A disbelieving laugh shot from her lungs, and she lifted her hands to rest on the sides of his head, smoothing out his coat as he nuzzled into her touch. “What on earth are you doing here, hmm? You’re meant to be with Remus—unless you’re telling me there is a werewolf in the woods.” 

Her fingers trailed up to his ears, sliding them between her fingers before touching gingerly to the hard bone of his antlers. “You’re quite lovely like this, you know? I might like you better, actually.” 

A watery huff pushed through his snout, and he nudged her back an inch as she laughed. “Truly! And you’re so…” wrinkling her nose, she canted her head back and forth a few times, “ _quiet._ Maybe our relationship would be better served if you remained a stag more often. I could ride on your back.” 

Catching the fabric of her jumper between his teeth, he tugged her gently. 

The moment stilled, and she wrapped her arms around his long face, pressing her forehead between his eyes. “I missed you today.” 

James stepped back and eyed her curiously. He kneeled, one hoof sticking forward from the rest, and his body began to shift, the fur fading and turning to taut, tanned skin, chest shrinking and spine curving. It took only a moment and the stag was gone. Where it had stood, James was kneeling, shirtless and with one hand pressed into the grass.

He stood, grinning and rubbing his hands over his arms. Cracking his neck a few times, he took her in his arms and kissed her sweetly. “Hello, you.” 

“That was incredible,” she mumbled against his lips between kisses. 

His thick arms tightened, and he shook his head. “Little more than a party trick, my love. Are you okay? Peter said you stopped by and had a rough afternoon. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

Shaking off the memories of earlier, she tried to change the subject. “Why don’t you have your shirt on?” 

“Less restrictive when I run. I don’t like the feeling of clothing, but I rarely run starkers because then Sirius joins and makes it weird.” Laughing quietly, he took both of her cheeks in his palms and stared at her. “Are you okay?”

She shrugged. “I will be. Just a weird day, I think. What are you doing here?”

“Peter said you had a hard day,” he said plainly. 

Her vision narrowed in confusion. “But what about Remus?”

“He took his potions like a good pup, and he has Peter and Sirius—he’ll be alright. I ran for a while and split off to make sure you were okay.” 

Deep in her chest, her heart leapt. _He’d come for her._ “You left your friends to make sure I was okay?” She repeated it as though the words weren’t quite right on her tongue.

An unreadable expression flashed over his features. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I check on the girl I love?” 

Everything stopped— _froze._ She managed two long breaths before tears sprung to the corner of her eyes. “The girl you what?”

He ducked down so his lips were hovering over hers. “I love you. Has that not been made obvious?”

This was one of those moments she was quite sure she’d remember for the rest of her life. She couldn’t speak, intent on memorising the feel of the wind in her curls and James’ heartbeat under her fingertips. As a tear worked its way free of her lashes, striping down her cheek, the world began to spin again. 

“I love you, too.” 

Grinning, he collided with her, enveloping her in his arms and kissing her breathless. Slipping his tongue into her mouth, he made slow work of snogging her like it was an art to be perfected and never rushed. Her fingers slid from his bare chest to the cut of his hips just as he grabbed a fistful of her arse. 

As they broke apart, she peered up at him a moment before a feeling steeled inside her. “Do you have to get back? Can you stay?”

His hazel eyes darkened, and he swallowed thickly. “I can stay.” 

xXx

Quietly and carefully, they tiptoed up the stairs. Surely she wasn’t breaking any rules, but it still felt a bit off-limits to be sneaking someone into her room. 

Pressing the door closed behind them, Hermione turned and shifted uncomfortably on her feet. James was already perched on the edge of her bed, hands resting on either side of his hips. The tension in the air clung uncomfortably to her skin. and she wanted nothing more than to shake it free. 

In the silver light of the full moon, James was heartbreakingly beautiful. And impossibly enough, he loved her. Snorting at her own disbelief, she crossed the room. Settling one knee by his hip, she straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

His hands settled on the crook of her hips and tugged her forward so their pelvises were flush, but he remained silent, lips twitching in a mischievous smile. 

She was sure in the quiet room he must be able to hear the furious pounding of her heart. To quell her nerves, she leaned forward and kissed him. Opening her mouth to his, she pressed her tongue inside. The brush of her tongue against his dragged a moan from deep in his belly, and his hands moved up to wrap around her middle, crushing their bodies together as she rocked her hips just once. 

Keening, she felt her sex dampen, soaking her knickers as she rocked against his growing erection. When she felt breathless, he latched onto her neck, sucking and marking her as he fumbled for the hem of her jumper. His fingers skimmed the skin of her belly as he dragged the fabric over her head. 

Under a thin white vest, her nipples pebbled in the cool air and he wasted no time in finding them. Her head fell back, and she gasped as he wrapped his lips over her covered breast, his thumb draggling lazily over the other. She wanted to drown in him, wanted to sink into his touch and never resurface again. 

_“ James…_ ” She choked on his name as she bucked on his lap. 

“What is it, love?” He moved his lips to the other breast, his now free hand digging into the thick flesh of her arse. “Tell me what you want.”

Her skin was on fire, her entire body desperate for relief. “Everything.” 

“Fuck, I love you. You _are_ everything. Tell me what you want—it’s yours. I’ll do anything.” James pushed the hem of her vest up, letting it rest around her collarbone as he took her breasts in both hands. “Anything for you.” 

In a frenzy, she tore the fabric over her head, letting her curls fall around her shoulders as she clung to him. “Make love to me, James.” The words were a whisper, and he became so still, she wasn’t sure he’d even heard her at all. Panic seized her chest. “James?”

Pulling back, he studied her for a long moment, his eyes near pitch black. “Are you—” 

“Yes.” She grinned at the truth of it because there wasn’t an ounce of indecision left in her body. There was no doubt why it had never worked with anyone else, why no other kisses had ever lead to anything—it was because she was meant to be here. This was the complex work of an all-knowing universe that conspired to bring her to James Potter, and she wanted all the parts of him. 

His breath caught in his throat, and his hands curled around her ribs. Dragging his lip between his teeth, he rolled her off his lap and laid her gently on her back, settling between her thighs. “Tell me if you change your mind, okay? Or if it’s too much?”

Rolling her eyes, she dragged him down for a kiss. She expected him to oblige with zest, to snog her senseless and fuck her into the mattress with abandon... but he slowed, kissing her deeply and exploring the confines of her mouth as he rested on his elbows over her. 

Hermione squirmed. Now that she’d decided it was time, she was rather eager to get on with it, and she reached between them to grip the length of him. But he was faster, catching her wrist and locking it over her head as he broke the kiss. 

“Patience, my love.” He bumped his nose against hers. “Trust me.” 

Releasing a shaky breath, she nodded, trying to quiet her anxious heart. 

His lips found her shoulder as his hand dragged down the length of her arm and side. She fought the urge to move—to toss him on his back and sink onto his lap until she was coming undone—but it seemed James had other plans. He readjusted slightly so his hand could slip under the band of her shorts. 

When his fingers slid down her seam, finding her soaked, they both shared a stuttered moan. “Fuck you’re so ready, Hermione.” She nodded violently; _she was ready_. “I need you to come for me first.” His finger massaged her aching clit, and her knees locked around him. Slipping inside her, he curled his fingers and dragged in and out of her in slow pulls, rocking his palm against her clit. 

Bucking against his hand, she felt for the first time like his thick fingers weren’t nearly enough. She needed _more_. His lips continued roaming, dancing along the constellation of freckles on her shoulders and down the curve of her breast. His kisses down her body were slow and sensual, stopping only to pay special attention to her breasts. 

“James,” she whined, threading her fingers in his hair and arching into his touch. 

“Come for me, love.” He twisted his hand, his thumb rubbing firm circles against her clit. “I want to be inside you so fucking bad but I need you to come.” 

He quickened his pace, and she felt the now familiar coil of her orgasm impending. She wished she knew what he was doing down there, but all she knew was that it was bloody divine, and with a final flick of his thumb, she crested. Her limbs locked, and she clutched James to her chest as she rolled her hips once more. 

“That’s my girl,” he panted, tickling the ridge inside her once more before dragging from her folds. “Perfect girl.” 

In the haze of her orgasm, she could do little but watch him as he rolled off the bed. He wet his lips and sucked in a long breath as he reached for the button of his jeans, slipping them free and revealing a thatch of dark hair, his erection springing free unencumbered by pants. With a hard yank, the fabric fell to his feet and he stepped out of them. 

Her gaze caught on him, and she whimpered, suddenly more aware of his size than ever. Gripping the base of his cock, he gave himself a squeeze and stared down at her, nervousness present on his face. “Are you sure?” 

She nodded, focusing her attention on her breath and trying to make sense of how she’d make room for all of that inside her. With a careful touch, he tugged her shorts and knickers off, dragging them slowly down her legs. 

Panic crashed into her as he crawled over and settled between her thighs, careful not to touch her sex. He kissed her instead, slow and passionate, stealing the nerves from her mind. Mumbling something unintelligible against her lips, she felt a distinct warming sensation over her womb— a charm—and she sucked in a quick breath. His hand slipped between them, and a moment later she felt the gentle nudge at her entrance and her eyes shot open, her body tensing. 

With a shaky breath, she dropped her hands on his shoulders and stared wide-eyed at him. “What do I do?”

His lips quirked in a lopsided smile, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. “Try to relax and tell me if you need me to stop. Okay?”

“Will I—” She paused, gulping hard. There were a thousand thoughts crashing around her mind, and she gripped hard to the first one floating by. “Will I bleed? I’ve heard there’s blood.” 

“I’ll go slow. I’ll be careful.” It wasn’t _quite_ an answer but she nodded anyway, stealing a long breath as he began to press inside her. 

It wasn’t quite so bad at first, just _strange._ Full. But then, as he inched deeper, she felt pressure behind her navel, and she gasped and dug her nails into his taut shoulders. There was no way he was fully inside her, but she wasn’t sure she could fit any more. Biting down hard on her lip, she swallowed the knot in her throat and willed herself not to cry. 

“Are you okay?” The words slipped through his clenched jaw. 

She hummed, unable to actually say yes. _“Kiss me.”_

James’ lips did a marvellous job at distracting her as he pushed deeper inside her, keeping her mouth busy from crying out. He hissed an expletive as she felt his hips meet hers and he trembled on top of her, dropping his forehead to hers with a pinched expression.

Clenching her eyes shut, she shifted her hips a bit and gnawed on her lip, getting used to the feeling of being completely full. After a moment of feeling stretched and uncomfortable, she gulped. 

“I think—I think you can move now.” 

James remained silent, pulling slowly from her and then pushing back in a little quicker than before. She knew he was holding back a great deal, and she’d never been more grateful. But with every thrust, it hurt less. Then it even started to feel good— _very good_. She moaned when he rocked his hips. 

Burying his face in the crook of her neck, his hand found her knee and hitched it higher. On the next thrust, he sank deeper and she arched up, crying out at the sensation. “Oh my gods— _James._ ” She praised him again and again, widening her thighs as he rutted into her. Why had she ever thought it couldn’t get better than before? This was _everything_. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” She whined in response as he picked up a quicker pace; the bed shook gently under them. “Hermione—I can’t.” 

His hips rocked faster, and she curled around him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he drove into her, chasing his release. With a broken groan, he stilled, spilling inside her. When he’d finished, he fell over her, bearing his weight on his elbows as he panted and caught his breath.

Trailing her fingernails over the ridges of his back, her eyes fluttered closed and she turned boneless. Her body hummed with adrenaline and pleasure, every nerve ending alive and tingling. 

“Are you okay?” he managed, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he slowly slid from her folds. 

She smiled, shimmying her hips and assessing. She curled into his side and kissed his chest. “Quite.” Grinning she popped up on her elbow, resting her cheek in her palm. “Did it feel okay for you? Was it too tight?”

Choking on a riotous laugh, he hugged her tight and kissed her hairline. “It was beyond perfect. The single most wonderful moment of my life,” he paused, arms tightening. “I’m in love with you, Hermione Granger.” 

With a broad smile, she rolled onto his chest. “When do we get to do it again?”

xXx

**A/N: Almost forgot to update today! Ah! Can you even imagine…**

**Thank you as always for reading, reviewing, supporting, all of it! I write for me but I share for those of you who read my silliness. Thank you!**

**And always, kudos, hugs, kisses, and love to my BritAlphabet: Farmulousa, Ravenslight, MCal, and NuclearNik! It takes an A R M Y folks.**

**Xo— until next time, stay safe and well!**

  
  
  



	23. Chapter 23

March 1980

The Leaky Cauldron

The Leaky was in full swing and while she’d come to actually get to _see_ Marley for a bit, she’d barely caught her. Everyone had been so bloody busy lately that she found she missed the early days when she’d just arrived and things were a bit more simple. 

The barstool next to her scraped against the floor and she jumped, surprised to find Remus slipping into the seat. “Hello, stranger.” 

“Remus! What are you doing here?” 

“Sirius and James are supposed to finish up soon so we were gonna meet here for a pint. You?” Remus lifted a finger to Marley, smiling a hello and requesting a beer. “Meeting James?”

She grimaced and shook her head. “I didn’t mean to break up your boy's night or anything. I just wanted to stop in to see Marlene but it’s packed. I’ll order a takeaway and head back.” 

“You’ll do no such thing.” A lopsided smirk curled his lips, and he nudged her with his elbow. “Let’s eat; I’m starved.” 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Marlene crooned, pushing a pale beer Remus’ way then leaning across the bar to press a kiss to his cheek. “Where are your idiot friends?”

“Peter is off with Dorcas. Paddy and Prongs ought to be here soon.” 

Marley groaned and rolled her eyes. “They’re insufferable with this blasted training. Sirius seems to think they’ve made him Head bloody Auror. They’ll be filing reports and standing on street corners but he’s been acting like they’ll be pairing him up with Moody next week.” 

Hermione laughed, but she had to agree that Sirius had been a bit much since the two Marauders had accepted their new roles in the Auror Department. Still, James’ reaction had surprised her most. From what she’d gathered about James Potter in his time at Hogwarts, he was exceptionally clever but rather lazy. He took nothing too seriously, not even his coursework, yet he still managed an impressive number of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. 

She’d only assumed that his new role would be a way to pass the time, but he’d thrown himself into it. When he wasn’t working with the department training, he was training with Sirius and Remus, running and exercising, pushing his body to the limit until he was so sore and exhausted that he’d collapse in bed. 

Even with his increasingly hectic schedule, he’d find time for her. She found herself completely lost in new love and since discovering exactly how much she enjoyed sharing a bed with James Potter, she wanted to do little else. It’d been only a few weeks but at every given opportunity she was stealing kisses and tugging him into her bed. He seemed only happy to oblige. Even when he was bone tired and broken from training, he’d bring her over the edge time and time again. 

She was helplessly in love, and she fought a grin that tried to work its way onto her lips at the thought of him. They ordered their meals and ate as they shared easy conversation. 

“You didn’t want to join the Auror Department with the other two?” she asked, dipping her chip in a pile of ketchup. 

Remus shifted, something flickering across his face. “Um, no.” 

“Maybe something else? I was thinking of applying at Flourish and Blotts just for something to fill the time.”

Swallowing a long drink, he winced as he placed the glass down. “It’s—well, it’s not that easy for me. Employment is complicated when you’re...” 

Hermione’s features crumpled, and she sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth. “I’m so sorry, Remus. I didn’t even think of it—I’m an idiot.” 

“I doubt that,” Remus said with a laugh. “And it’s alright, I’m used to it. I can find odd jobs at times and the Order has had enough to do with volunteering. It’d be nice not to have to rely on James paying for the rent and my beers, but what can I do?”

“I’m sure he’s happy to do it,” she reassured him, avoiding his gaze as she poked at the food on her plate. 

Remus choked on a laugh. “He’s a good bloke; I’d do just about anything for him.” 

A thought flickered to life and before she could think better on it, it pushed past her lips. “Is that why you encouraged Lily and James to get on?”

She’d caught him as he was taking a drink, and he hacked and sputtered, beer falling from his lips as he violently tried to clear his throat. When he’d regained his constitution, he blanched and gawked at her. _“What?”_

Grinning, Hermione rolled her eyes and nudged him. “I’m not _that_ stupid, you know. It’s quite clear that you and Lily Evans are in love with each other.” 

The muscles in his neck worked as he swallowed nothing but air. “That’s not—” 

“It’s okay. I can see now why you’d have wanted to push them together if he was keen on her. You seem like someone who would forfeit their own happiness for your friend.” 

“I wish it was all that simple.” Scratching the back of his neck, he relented and let go of a long breath. “I _did_ encourage them to get on back then. James was— _is_ —such an utter prat but I know the better side of him and Lily deserves—well, Lily deserves the very best. James is the best. I want her to be happy more than anything.” 

“More than you want to be with her?” Hermione pressed, her voice dripping with low sincerity. 

Remus’ face snapped to hers and for the first time, she allowed herself to really study him. His brow forever furrowed in concern, mossy eyes that seemed wiser than his nineteen years. He was handsome, that much was obvious, but there was more there: a kindness and understanding that she knew would withstand the test of time. 

“Yes,” he said simply, eyes fluttering back to his plate. “I want her to be happy more than I want to be with her. I don’t even want to be with her; what kind of sod would I be if I did? Sign her up for a half-life with a werewolf for a partner who can’t keep a job and depends on the charity of his friends?” Snorting, he pushed his food away roughly. “Sorry, I’m not usually so self-deprecating.” 

Her chest flooded with grief as she watched him, knowing full well that these feelings about himself were present even when he’d found Tonks.“Don’t give up hope, Remus. You’re my professor after all and the best Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor I had.” Her lips curled in a smile. “Trust me, I’ve had my share.” 

A moment of silence followed and eventually it was him to break the silence. “Have you—” he paused, his face scrunching to the side. “Have you heard from her? Lily?”

“I haven’t.” 

Swallowing, Remus nodded. “I figured as much.”

“I’m sure she just needs some time to process everything. Being a Muggle-born, I’ve seen it first hand. She’ll come back around, I bet.” 

A wry smile bent his lips. “Maybe by then I’ll have my shit together enough to deserve Lily Evans, eh?”

Sincerity dripped over her features, and she sagged. “You already do, Remus. You already do.” 

xXx

  
  


The cauldron bubbled in a lovely shade of chartreuse, ribboned with shimming silver as it came to a low boil. Checking the instructions once more, Hermione felt confident in her brew and charmed a spoon to stir in slow rotations for the next thirty minutes. There’d been a shortage of moon-harvested Aconite, so she’d need to head out to forage at some point in the next few days so that it could steep in the moonlight for a fortnight before April’s full moon. 

Humming happily to herself, she stuck her wand in the knot at the crown of her head and swivelled in her chair to inventory ingredients. As the months wore on, she found herself becoming far more proficient at Potions than she had been even at Hogwarts. Frank had been happy to assist her, but she found she needed it less and less and as she sorted through Boom Berries, cataloguing them by size and then storing them in the cupboards overhead. 

In the months since she’d begun, she’d been able to outfit the safe houses as well as headquarters with enough basic healing potions and salves to see them through for a while yet and while she’d made exactly zero progress in hunting for Horcruxes, it eased her anxiety to know she was helping the war effort in some way. 

She found it easy to push thoughts of Horcruxes and impending death to the side these days, things were quiet where the war was concerned and there was a sense of normalcy that Hermione desperately wanted to cling to. 

A soft knock at the door grabbed her attention, and she swivelled back, warmth flooding her chest as she set her sights on James. 

“I thought I’d find you here.” Crossing the space, he wrapped his arms around her. “How was your day?”

“Better now,” she said, smiling gently up at him. His eyes were shadowed in pale purple, exhaustion evident on his face from weeks of little sleep and pushing his body to the limit. “You?”

Leaning down, James quickly pressed his lips to hers and then pushed the wayward curls from her temple. “Long, but also better now. What are you working on?” His gaze travelled to the open book on the table, and she panicked and reached for it, but he was faster, sliding it out of her reach. “Well, well—cheeky witch.” 

Rolling her eyes, she ignored the blush that blossomed along her cheekbones. “I’m caught up on my other draughts; it only makes sense I also take the potion if we’re going to be—” 

“Shagging at every waking hour?” Amusement laced through his words as his hand drifted to her bum and he pulled her from the stool only to set her deftly on the potions table, settling between her thighs. 

Hermione snorted. “Intimate. I was going to say _intimate._ ” His lips found her neck, trailing up towards her jaw in long, wet kisses that set her skin on fire. “You’re exhausted, James. You need to sleep; you don’t need sex.” 

“I _always_ need sex if it’s with you.” His teeth grazed her ear, and he tugged her bum towards the edge of the table so he could hitch her knees on his hips. “I don’t know why you’re wasting time with the potion, though. I’ve mastered the charm.” 

Choking on a laugh, Hermione pulled back and held him at arm’s length. “You forget that I am fully aware that you are rubbish at the contraception charm as your dependency on it led to the birth of my friend, Harry.” 

“Bollocks,” he grinned, finding her lips again. His hand skimmed up her side, curling around her ribcage as he kissed her deeply. 

“You know—” A new voice pierced through the air and both Hermione and James jumped, flailing wildly as she hopped off the counter and turned. Her blush deepened as she set eyes on Alice and Frank in the door, both with matching smiles. “That’s meant to be a sterile space,” Alice said. 

“We weren’t—” Hermione began, tugging on her shirt then cradling her burning cheeks. “Nothing was happening.”

“Do I need to have the talk with you, James?” Frank asked, his eyes twinkling in a tease. 

James snorted and threw his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Seeing as you’re about five minutes older than me—I assume not, mate. Thanks for the offer.” 

Hermione grimaced, eyes clenching shut as she made a strange uncomfortable noise. 

“Is there a reason you’re interrupting my snog, Longbottoms?” That air of pure Gryffindor arrogance was evident again in James’ tone. He often dropped it for her, but it was a shield he carried whenever he spoke to anyone else. 

“Actually, yes.” Alice shifted uncomfortably, hands cradling her bump. “Moody has officially taken me off active duty until autumn. You’ll be Frank’s partner for the foreseeable future.” 

James’ hand fell away, and he stood tall; Hermione couldn’t breathe. _Too soon._ Auror training should take months, and he’d barely been in the program for a fortnight. “How is that possible?” Her voice trembled though she willed it to stop. 

“Special clearance from the Minister and Head of D.M.L.E.; your most recent exams were some of the best the department has seen, and they’ve seen it fit to move you along. Sirius as well, as long as his marks come back above proficient.” 

“Brilliant,” James said finally, though his voice was a bit tighter than she’d expect. “What do you need from me?”

Scratching at the back of his neck, Frank grimaced slightly. “We need to go into the Ministry. Moody and Kings want to expedite your paperwork so you can start immediately.” 

Hermione huffed indignantly, feeling as though someone had landed a punch to her gut. “He just got back from training all day. How’s he supposed to stay on top of it if he’s not allowed to sleep?”

With a low chuckle, James reached down and brushed his lips against her hairline and squeezed her once for good measure. “It won’t be long, love. I’ll come back as soon as I can.” 

Moments later, Hermione found herself in an empty potions lab with an irritated flame growing in her belly. The complacency she’d felt vanished as she realised the imminent danger that James would be placed in. With a tight pout, she returned her attention to the cauldron, now simmering and releasing floral notes into the air. Behind her, glass vials shook with accidental magic. 

xXx

She’d stayed awake as long as she could, desperate to see him again for more than a handful of minutes and a stolen kiss, but she was soon dozing off in bed with a book splayed over her chest. When she woke the following morning, the sun hadn’t yet finished its climb over the horizon, the room filtered with gentle rays of light. 

But James was there, and her heart sung. He must have snuck in sometime in the middle of the night and divulged himself of his clothes and crawled into her bed but she couldn’t remember when. Rolling gently in his arms, she was intent to let him sleep but her fingers couldn’t resist running along the cut of his jaw and over his stubbled cheeks. She burrowed into his embrace and breathed him in greedily. 

As she wiggled closer, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and he hummed a good morning. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, fingers falling to his chest. “Go back to sleep.” 

Against her thigh, she felt him waken, and he pushed against her with a sleepy smile, eyes still closed. “I’d love to, dear, but someone seems eager to say hello.” 

With a quiet laugh, she shook her head and wiggled so she could press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Sleep. There’ll be time for that lat— _Oh!”_

In a swift move, he’d rolled them so he was now flat on his back and she was lying across his chest. Shifting so she was sitting up, she glared down at him as he peeked through one slanted eye. His hands found her hips and rocked her against his erection, but she remained stoically annoyed. 

“You need rest, James Potter. I don’t need you keeling over from exhaustion. I can only imagine how insufferable you’d be.” 

One hand skated up her shirt and palmed her bare breast as he pushed up into her. “What if I promise to let you do _all_ the work and I’ll lay here like a good boy? That’s rest enough.” His thumb grazed her nipple, and she gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily. Drifting from her shirt, his hand came up to curl behind the back of her neck and he dragged her over him, kissing her languidly as his free hand roamed her backside and thighs. 

As she continued moving against him, her resolve withering and dying with each ministration, their kisses deepened. She lifted up just barely and James made quick work of her knickers, sliding two fingers into the hem near her sex and pushing them off to the side. With another shuffle, he was positioned at her entrance, and she slowly seated herself on him, dragging a moan from them both. 

James hissed an expletive under his breath as she rolled her hips again and again, his hands guiding her as they worked her hips. She never sped up her pace; instead, she moved lazily around him. Sleepy Sunday love with roaming touches and feather-light kisses that left her breathless. James manoeuvered her shirt over her head, curls spilling over her shoulders. 

She fell over him, her breasts pressed against his chest as she rocked against him, the position providing the most lovely friction. One arm wound around her waist, the other buried in her curls as he dove his tongue between her lips. He flexed, hitting new spots in her, and when she came around him, she saw stars. Throughout her slow orgasm, he held her tight, breathing hard into her ear until she was finished and then driving up into her with a quicker pace than she’d set, spilling into her with a strangled groan. 

They fell apart, lips and tongues still tangled in lazy kisses and fingers mapping out new trails over each other’s bodies. 

“So,” she said when they’d finally settled into each other’s arms, James yawning loudly, “you’re an Auror, now.” 

“I’m an Auror.” Disbelief coloured his words but he said nothing else. 

“Did you always want to go into that department? Was there something else you’d thought about doing if this all hadn’t happened as it had?”

James hummed and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I wanted to play Quidditch, of course, but I’m not sure I ever really thought on doing that for real. Just a childhood dream.” Another yawn. “What about you?”

The space between Hermione’s brows wrinkled, and she shook her head. “Not really. I was a bit preoccupied there at the end. I think I would have just been happy to make it out alive and would have happily traded my adventures for something a little quieter. That’s all I want when this is over—a quiet, normal life.”

“I could give you that,” he said quietly; she could _hear_ the smile on his face. 

She smiled too and shifted to stare up at him, finding his expression unreadable. “I’d like that.” 

James sucked in a sharp breath, and she could feel his arms tighten around her body for a moment. “I had something I wanted to ask you but I haven’t really been sure how…” 

Panic swelled and crashed in her chest, a thousand thoughts springing to life. She merely hummed in response, not trusting her own voice. 

“When this is all over—when we’ve fixed everything properly—what happens then? Do you go back?”

His words slammed into her like a wayward punch, and her breath left her in a sharp huff. Her lips parted but before she could answer they both froze and winced, feeling a frantic call pulsing in their tattoos. 

Hermione’s hand shot to hers, fingers tracing the angry lines of the Phoenix. Reeling on James, she could see it on his face as well. Visions danced across her mind: clues as to where they were supposed to be. Blue eyes behind halfmoon spectacles and a silver beard, Longbottom Hall. 

She gasped. “Is that—“

“Yes. Dumbledore’s here.”

xXx

**A/N: Hi all! Thanks so much for the patience with this chapter. Incase you didn’t happen to catch my note on Tumblr, I have decided to drop back to once a week updates for the foreseeable future! It gives all of my team a few more days to work through things and I’m ever so grateful for all the lovely work they’ve done on this fic so far!**

**MCal has alpha read through chapter 33 but will no longer be alpha’ing this project. I am so grateful for her time and care through the first 33 chapters of this story and wish her all the best.**

**Thanks also to the rest of the BritAlphabet: Famulousa, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik! I appreciate you guys!**

**I will return next Monday… as will good ol Dumbles.**


	24. Chapter 24

March 1980

Longbottom Hall

It’d been months since she’d seen Albus Dumbledore. _Months._

While she was rather disgruntled on the matter, he seemed completely unaffected. They’d gathered in the upstairs lounge, merely a handful of them crowding where the Headmaster sat. The portrait above the fireplace that was usually sleeping with his mouth gaping was now alert, perched at the edge of his tufted chair with wide, curious eyes. 

Albus remained silent, nodding along as Frank recounted the last few weeks in hushed tones. Irritation bubbled to the surface, and Hermione’s mouth puckered as though she’d just sucked a lemon. James was a constant at her side, the other Marauders and finally Marley shuffling into the corner. 

In a cacophony of expletives and grunts, Moody thundered into the small room, taking up any excess space; Kingsley was next, his braids tied into a knot at the top of his head and his wand tucked behind his ear. 

“Albus,” Moody said by way of hello, and he and Kings stopped in the front of the room. 

“You’re all here,” Albus said, a small smile bending his lips. “Frank here has filled me in on the issues as it stands with the Death Eater attacks as well as our two members coming up as Aurors. Congratulations to you both.” He paused, nodding deeply in their general direction. “Miss Granger, how goes your task? Have you acquired any other Horcruxes in the months since we last met?”

Hermione bristled, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “No. I’ve had some progress with one but the others I am still without threads to follow. My notes dictate that Tom may have wanted to create Horcruxes from artefacts from other houses. I am almost positive he failed in regards to anything from Gryffindor but—”

Albus lifted his weathered hands and searched through the crowd. “Ah, there you are Miss Meadowes. Can you assist Miss Granger with her task? I seem to remember you had some proclivity towards magical artefacts in your time at Hogwarts.” 

Hermione had been cut off during her small window of time to actually _speak_ to Dumbledore, delegated to someone else as though she were nothing more than a task on his neverending list. Crimson twinged her vision and though Dorcas had stepped up and readily agreed, Hermione felt the dam of her manners break, frustration flooding her system. 

“Professor, I’m sorry but you seem to be treating my being here like a hobby of mine. I had a life in 1998: friends, family, possibilities for a future.” James stilled at her side as the room fell into a tense quiet. “I wouldn’t be here if my mission wasn’t of the utmost importance. All these other side projects are for naught if we don’t find a way to track down and destroy the Horcruxes. If we don’t—nothing changes. _Nothing_. Even if you did find a way to kill him, he’d come back. This mission is the only thing that matters!”

Her chest heaved in the wake of her rage, through Dumbledore remained passive yet again, his blue eyes unwavering and his hands still folded neatly across his beard. 

“Do you know the Wrights, Miss Granger?” 

Her jaw slammed shut. “No.” 

“The O’Haras or the Everlys? Maybe the Windors?” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I understand that your task is important but say that to those families who have been attacked within the last month—tell them that your mission is the only thing that matters. The Order is a unit.” He lifted his hands, locking his fingers together in the space in front of him. “No one task is more important than the others; it can’t be. We delegate and cooperate because no one member is able to sustain alone—not even myself.” 

Sitting up tall, Albus craned his neck once and continued, “Your mission is part of a larger tapestry, one that includes the safety of the Wizarding world in 1980. I cannot abandon the rest of our population to focus all of our energy on finding the Horcruxes. That must fall on you. We’ve provided what we can and will continue to do so. Outside these walls and the protection of the Order there is more happening than any of you possibly know.”

Hermione nodded, her brow severely arched. She was, for all intents and purposes, alone in finding the Horcruxes. And if that were the case, she could no longer wait for approval in getting what she needed to find and destroy them. 

“Very well. I am also here to inform you that following the end of the term at Hogwarts, I am being dispatched with the International Wizarding Coalition. I will do what I can to stay as informed as possible but in order to do so I am requesting that missives directed for me go through Alastor and Kingsley; they will see that I receive them.” 

Marley piped up from the back. “Where’re you going, Headmaster?” 

“I’m afraid both my work with the I.C.W. as well as the location are confidential for now. Anything else?” The room remained otherwise quiet. “Lovely. I’ll hear from the rest of you now.” 

Digging her fingers into the back of the sofa, Hermione tried in vain to control her anger. Dorcas spoke about the raids and Benji on a plausible few offensive strikes that Dumbledore didn’t seem all that keen on. The twins were next, filling in the details of what they and Benji had discovered about the disappearances in Muggle London. 

Benji cleared his throat and took over. “While the attacks on Muggle _-borns_ have been mostly scare tactics and vandalism, things have been downright violent in Muggle London. There have been more and more disappearances and in some cases deaths. You-Know-Who is targeting an odd sort: drifters, the homeless, Muggles addicted to drugs.”

“He’s building an army,” Hermione said flatly, her lips pursed as though the man had personally offended her. “An army of Inferi.” 

Deafening silence followed by low mumbles of disbelief. 

“You’re sure?” Kingsley asked, taking a step forward into the centre of the room. 

Her gaze flickered to Sirius, whose jaw was set hard like steel. “I am.”

The two head Aurors shared a look, and Moody nodded, his eyes drifting back to Hermione. “We’ll increase patrols in the dodgier areas of London. If we can apprehend Death Eaters in the act, we may find ourselves a lead. We are working on getting approval for Veritaserum while interrogating those suspected of working with You-Know-Who. We’ll need volunteers—”

Hermione’s hand shot in the air. “I’ll go.” 

“Hermione…” James warned from her side, but she swallowed hard and ignored him. 

“I am tracking down Horcruxes; I need Death Eaters for that. This way I can help with monitoring as well as give me the best chance to get close to some actual evidence. Whatever you need, I’m there.” 

Moody grunted. “Fine. At this point we can use every body we can get. You’ll need a team.” 

Marley’s fingers tickled the air, and she stepped next to Hermione. “Aye, I’ll go with her. Safe houses are secure and stocked; I can take on more between my shifts at the Leaky.” 

“Me too,” Alice said clearly, jaw set as she worked her way forward. “And don’t start, Moody—or you, Frank—patrols are nowhere near as dangerous, and I can handle it a few more months yet. We’ll call for support if we need it; the girls could use an Auror with them.” 

Hermione’s chest filled with pride and anticipation as she fought a smile. “I’m ready.”

xXx

  
  
  


Laying in James’ bed, Hermione couldn’t shake the discomfort that had settled around them earlier that day. Things had taken such a sharp shift, and it was the first time since they’d begun seeing each other that Hermione found herself at a loss for words. 

James was quiet as well, lying with his hand tucked behind his head and his jaw tight. 

When she could stand it no longer, she shot up and turned so she was facing him. “What is it?”

“What?” 

“What is it?” Hermione pressed, unsure if she even really wanted to know the answer. 

“It’s nothing, Hermione. I’m just tired.” His voice was void of any inflection or emotion and it only set to drive her further on edge. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t know why he was upset; it had happened so suddenly that there was no question. She just felt deflated in saying it aloud. “Is it because I’m going out with Alice and Marley?”

“It’s dangerous out there, Hermione.” 

“And you don’t think I know that?” She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“You don’t,” he bit out, “Not really at least. You haven’t seen—”

“Please don’t patronise me, James. I’ve fought Death Eaters before. That scar on my ribs? It’s from Antonin Dolohov.” The name caught James’ attention, his eyes flickering to her. “Yeah, I got it sneaking into the Department of Mysteries to save Sirius Black when I was sixteen. I’m not fragile, James. I’m strong. I can handle myself.”

“It’s not the same.” 

Her brow inched towards her hairline, disbelief dripping over her features. “You’re impossible; I’m leaving.” 

She made to scoot off the bed but he stopped her, his hand coming down on her knee. “Please don’t.” 

“Do you treat all the women in the Order this way?” 

A smirk twitched on the corner of his lips, and she could see him visibly soften. “I’m not in love with all the women in Order. I’m allowed to want you safe. I’m allowed to be worried that my girlfriend is out there in the grottiest parts of London searching for trouble.” 

As much as she detested it, reason shrouded her irritation. She’d felt the same way when James had volunteered himself. With a long sigh, she summoned her enchanted bag and began rooting around. Near the bottom, her fingers brushed along a gold chain and she lifted it free, holding it in the space between her and James. 

His eyes caught on the Time-Turner, his jaw hardening. “Ah.” 

“This is what brought me here; it’s a long jump Time-Turner. It requires far more magic than a standard one and is considered useless after its single jump.” 

Quickly scooting up to a seated position, James vibrated with concentration. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” she paused, closing her fingers around the concentric circles and busted hourglass, “unless I find another long-jump time turner, I won’t be going back. I’m here.” 

James swallowed and shifted in his seat, his normally playful smirk missing and replaced with a downward turn of his mouth. “Did you know that when you used it?”

Lips folding inward, she nodded. “We were losing more and more people every day. Harry—” She flinched at the sound of his name on her lips and fought back tears as she prepared to tell him what she’d put off for so long. “On October 1981, Harry is turned into a Horcrux. That’s when You-Know-Who was defeated for the first time.”

“What?” Confusion flickered across his face. “How is that possible?”

Hermione’s eyes fell to her fist holding the necklace. “You-Know-Who entered your home at Godric’s Hollow that night to kill Harry.” 

“To kill a… _a baby_?”

Nodding, she continued. “There is a prophecy that leads him there. Lily sacrifices herself for Harry and in doing so, protects him from the Killing Curse, rebounding and destroying You-Know-Who’s body.” A single tear slipped free, and she quickly banished it. 

“Lily _dies?”_ The pain drenched in his voice made her heart clench and her gaze involuntarily jumped to his. “Is that when—” His voice hitched, unable to continue. 

“Yes,” she said around the knot lodged in the base of her throat. James had known, of course, but she could see him now settling into the truth of it. With a heavy breath, she continued. “That’s why I had to come back. If Harry is made a Horcrux, then the only way to defeat You-Know-Who is for Harry to die.” 

“Fuck,” he hissed, his fingers darting out and tightening around her knee. 

Dragging a broken breath through her teeth, she ignored the fresh tears staining her cheeks. “I thought I was coming back to protect him— _to save him_ . But now it’s so much more. I _have_ to save you, James. Have to save Lily and Sirius... and Marley and Gideon and Fabian and Benji and Dorcas and Frank and Alice and—” 

James shot forward, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her until her sobs had quieted. 

“I have to, James. And that means I have to find those bloody Horcruxes—and that means I have to take risks. Risks you might not like.” 

The muscles of his throat tensed as he swallowed back any more of his argument. “We do this together. You don’t run into fights with Dolohov or any of those other evil fucks without me. Okay?”

“I promise to try,” she allowed, lips twitching into a smile. “We’ll do this together.” 

Shifting forward, he caught the back of her neck and tugged her forward until their foreheads were resting against each other. _“Together._ ”

“ _Marauders!_ ” Remus’ voice echoed through the house and both Hermione and James sat tall, heads snapping towards the sound. After the meeting, Dumbledore had requested that Remus stay back though no one knew why. 

The occupants of the house filtered into the living room where Remus was standing, features pinched and hands shoved in his trouser pockets. As Sirius and Marley trodded down the stairs, he rocked back on his heels and sucked in a hard breath. “Right, I best be on with it.”

“On with what, mate?” Peter asked, his dark gaze shooting nervously around the room. 

Remus swallowed hard once and lifted his gaze to the group, his expression tightly guarded. “Dumbledore needs my help.” 

“Yours _specifically?”_ Peter queried. “We can help, whatever it is.” 

“You actually can’t this time, mate.” Remus’ lips quirked in a small smile. “I’m being dispatched to the mainland to seek out werewolf packs. Dumbledore would like their allegiance if things turn bad here.” 

Two heartbeats of silence followed by a collectively shouted, _“What!?”_

“He’s barmy,” Sirius nearly yelled, his hand darting to his hair. “You’re not going in hunt of fucking werewolves! What—does he want you dead?”

“Sirius is right,” James said, his voice low and serious. “This is dangerous as fucking hell and it’s not like you’ll be an Apparition away if you’re—”

Remus rocked back on his heels. “I won’t be coming back for awhile. He’d like me to assimilate into a pack; hopefully once I am and have some clout I can convince other packs.”

“No way. No fucking way,” Sirius began violently shaking his head and pacing. “We’ll come. We’ll help.” 

“You can’t and you know it. Not only will they never accept me if I have three of you in tow, but you’ve just started as Aurors. Pete just applied to Gringotts.” The group reeled on Peter, whose cheeks were blooming red. “Sorry, Pete, didn’t mean to spill your news… All I mean to say is that you lot have lives here. You have each other and a purpose and I don’t—this is my chance, alright? I’m going to take it. I’m going.” 

Sirius stopped in his tracks, the tension falling from his face and shoulders. “We don’t separate. We never have, and it’s the only bloody way we’ve all made it this far. We’re Marauders—we stick together.” 

“We still are, mate. Let me go and do something for myself, yeah? This is a good thing—dangerous, yes—but good. I’ll come back in a few months between moons; Dumbledore agreed to secure me a Portkey in June.” Remus gave a tight, lopsided smile. “I’ll owl when I can.” 

Marley moved first, crashing into her friend with a fierce hug. “When do you leave?”

“Now. I need to go and get my things together and meet with a liaison from the Magical Creature Department for a briefing. Stop looking at me like that, you gits. I’ll be fine. Couple months of income will do me good.” 

Remus got several pats on the back from the rest of the Marauders and finally stepped up to Hermione, surprising her by crushing her in a tight hug. His mouth fell to her ear, and he squeezed her tighter. “Tell me I make it out of this alive.”

With a trembling jaw, she wrapped her arms around her future Professor and nodded. “You do,” she whispered. “But be safe anyway, yeah?”

A hollow laugh rumbled through him and he pulled back, winking quickly at her and then jogging up the stairs for his room.

The quiet that followed was stifling and it was punctuated only by Sirius slamming his fist into the wall and shouting, _“Fuck!”_ before storming out the back door. 

**xXx**

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this week’s update! Poor sweet BB Remus… unfortunately, we knew this was coming canonically but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it! Fear not, Remus shall return.**

**Thank you so much for reading and following along. You all mean the world to me!**

**  
****Big thanks to my sweet British Alphabet: Farmulousa, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik for their help cranking out this chapter.**

**I hope this update finds you well, friends, and I’ll see you next Monday! All my kisses!**

  
  



	25. Chapter 25

March 1980

Longbottom Hall

“I look like a bloody fool, Hermione.” Peter yanked at his collar with a grimace as he tugged at his tie, face twisted in regret. “I don’t know why I thought I could do this. I most definitely can not do this.” 

“Of course, you can! You’re brilliant and Gringotts is lucky to have you.” 

“Right,” the Marauder deadpanned, his features falling flat. “I’m sure they are ecstatic to have someone to make pots of tea for the staff and organise vault ledgers.” 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione rounded him and fussed with the lapels of his new-to-him work robes. He’d cut and combed his sandy blond hair, which normally fell in his eyes and obscured his vision. He’d shaved as well—though Hermione wasn’t sure that was strictly necessary; he didn’t boast much to begin with. 

“I’m really happy for you, Pete. Gringotts is an incredible first job for anyone and a wonderful step in the door. This time next year you’ll be running the place.” 

“I should have paid more attention in Magical Theory, they’re never going to make me a Curse-Breaker without that N.E.W.T.” 

Peter Pettigrew’s sweet self-deprecation was enough to make her groan. She wished she could shake him a time or two so that he could see what a monumental moment this truly was.

Lifting her hands to his shoulders, she gave him a lopsided smile. “That’s not true. No one deciphers a rune like you do, and the boys would have never gotten into half as much mischief if you’d not gotten them through the wards.” 

His lips twisted as he shook his head, kicking at the worn floorboards. “That was mostly Remus.” 

With a long-suffering sigh, she wrapped her friend in a hug and then held him at arm’s length. “It was not and you know it.” 

A soft rap of knuckles on the door of Peter’s room caught their attention, and they turned to find a sleepy-eyed James leaning in the door frame, his fringe falling over his brow and arms crossed as he studied the scene. “This is the second time I’m finding my girl in your room, Pettigrew. I’m starting to think I may have to fight you over my honour.” 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione crossed the room and lifted onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to her boyfriend’s stubbled cheek. “Don’t you dare. Besides, Peter would dust the floor with you if you tried.” 

James had the good humour to look affronted while Peter barked out a laugh and returned to his reflection in the mirror. Over his shoulder, he said, “You just getting done for the night? Those overnights are going to kill you, mate.” 

With a loud yawn, James pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head. “Yeah, don’t I know it. Next week I’ll be on normal hours except for my two shifts in London with the Order. You off to your first big day?”

With a grumble of assent, Peter reached for his bag and shrugged. “Guess so.” 

“Well congrats, Petey. Let’s meet at Diagon after to celebrate, yeah? I’ll tell Sirius and—” The next word caught on a breath and a stifling silence sat in the air. Remus was gone, and the hole that had been left in the group was rarely acknowledged. “Marley. Sirius and Marley.” 

Clenching his jaw, the blond Marauder steeled his spine. After a firm handshake with James and a mumbled thanks to Hermione, he was gone. 

When they were alone, James dragged her into his bedroom, pulling her down onto the bed while fully clothed and tucking her into his side. They’d not been laying there for more than a minute before his eyes were fluttering shut and a yawn ripped its way from his lips. 

“I can’t believe Pete is working at Gringotts,” he said sleepily, sliding his leg between her thighs and melting into the mattress. 

Dragging her fingers along his jaw, she swallowed the butterflies rising in her belly. “You do know it’s seven in the morning, right? I can’t possibly sleep.” 

“Just a short nap—” Another yawn. “Then I’m going to rock your world, love.”

Hermione laughed and shook her head, shimmying until she could kiss the corner of his lips. “That’s not what I meant. I’m supposed to stop by the Burrow this morning to see Molly and the baby. So you’ll have to just do the responsible thing and sleep.”

“ _ Pshh _ , sleep is for pussies.” Although his eyes remained resolutely closed, his hand travelled down her spine and gripped her backside as a smirk played on the edge of his lips. 

“You’re incorrigible, you prat. Sleep and I’ll let you have your wicked way with me later, alright?” She kissed him again and then disentangled herself and climbed off the bed, ignoring his whining protest as he grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his belly. 

“You’re mean, Hermione Granger, but I love you.” 

Pausing in the doorway, she rested her temple against the jam a moment, smiling back at him as he drifted off. When a loud snore rent through the air, she choked out a laugh and left, grinning all the way to the Burrow. 

xXx 

It’d been a little over six weeks since Ron had made way into the world. Hermione had come to see them a handful of times but it often made her sadder than anything else, and in a desperate bid to stay above water, it was easier to think of Ron as—well, as  _ not _ Ron. 

Molly had sent an owl asking her round for breakfast the day prior, and she was loath to turn down an invitation from the Weasley Matriarch.

Upon stomping her way through the Floo, two ginger-haired boys collided into her knees, shouting, “ _ Miss Mione! Miss Mione! _ Up!” 

Grinning down at the twins, both wearing their identifying hand-knit sweaters, she reached down and lifted Fred into her arms, grunting at the solid weight of him. “Hello, there. George, you’ll have a turn in just a moment.”

“I Fred!” 

Furrowing her brow, she heard a titering laugh from outside the door and craned her neck to see Gideon and Fabian side by side. “What is so funny, you two?”

“We switched their sweaters,” Gideon grinned, making his way into the room to scoop the other twin in his arms. “We’re waiting to see how long until Molly notices but if you two keep ratting us out, the entire prank will be ruined.” The twins' uncle lightly tickled the boy in his arms and Fred— or was it George?— attempted to jump from Hermione’s arms as Fabian approached. 

“You are going to make those boys more mischievous than you know.” Rolling her eyes, she handed her twin to his uncle and made her way towards the kitchen, seeking Molly. 

Hermione found her at the stove, flourishing her wand at various pots, pans, and utensils as delicious scents wafted through the air. “Morning, Molly!”

The witch jumped slightly, turning and holding Ron tight. “There you are! Would you take this one? I’m nearly done but he keeps making a fuss, and Arthur is out there toying with some ridiculous Muggle car he’s seen fit to bring into my shed. My brothers, who were meant to come and  _ help, _ are off setting booby-traps around my bloody home, and don’t even get me started on my eldest two.” 

Laughing, Hermione took Ron and held him close, dragging a knuckle across his round cheek. “Just so you know, they twins have switched the twin’s sweaters and are trying to see how long before you notice.” 

Molly threw her hands up in the air and growled before turning back to her work, plates floating through the air as she pulled rolls from the oven. “Those two, I swear it,” she said, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “They are going to make me grey. You’ve no idea what they were like as children.” 

Stifling a giggle, Hermione smiled sweetly at the infant in her arms as Ron wrapped a chubby fist around her finger. “I’ve some idea, actually. Did you need help with anything?”

With a long sigh, Molly turned, her shoulders sagging. “Yes, please keep that baby from screaming until I’m done in here. Then after breakfast, would you stay round to talk? I’ve something for you.” 

A tangle of nerves wound in her belly— blame it on years of dodging Molly’s ire— but she nodded and found a spot on the bench near the window to spend a few moments with Ron. He really was quite the adorable baby, far rounder than the boy she knew, with pink cheeks and a dusting of ginger hair. Staring at those familiar blue eyes, she recognized the way he studied her intently. She was still a stranger after all. But then, his lips twitched in a smile, growing until it reached his eyes, and she barked out a disbelieving laugh. 

“He’s smiling!” she called out, unable to tear her eyes from his little face. 

Molly laughed as the final plates made their way to the table. “Yes, the little charmer just gave us the first one the other day. He must like you.” Hermione’s gaze floated up to the other witch’s and found her misty-eyed. “Forgive me, post-pregnancy silliness. I’m still holding out hope that this one won’t descend into a complete and utter menace like the rest of the brood.” 

Standing, Hermione handed Ron back to his mother with a final loving glance. “He’s not so bad. Far tamer than the others to be sure— except Percy. Percy is rather tame; not to say he doesn’t give you a good amount of grief in other ways.” 

Levying an exhausted sigh, Molly shrugged. “Well, at least there’s that. Come on, breakfast is ready.” 

The rest of the family thundered into the room, knocking into tables and sending the plates askew as they filled their plates with toast, eggs, sausages and beans. Hermione found herself at the far end of the table with the Prewett twins, and soon they were shifting their normally casual conversation towards war efforts, speaking in low, hushed tones, their eyes darting from Molly then back to each other. 

Gideon pushed the beans around his plate, speaking quietly from the side of his mouth. “Hermione, how much do you know about the offensive missions from our time? We’re covertly planning one and it’d be nice to know if we’re on the right bloody track.” 

Hermione considered it. Information about the inner workings of the Order had been limited at best. Most of the original members had died; Sirius went to Azkaban. The few that had remained hadn’t been very forthcoming with adventure-hungry Sixth Years. “Not much, I’m afraid,” she said after a moment.

Fabian sat forward, his gaze tight. “Do you remember hearing anything about an attack on Buchanan Castle at any point? We’ve got intel from an inside source that there is Dark Magic being worked there. That, paired with some strange Muggle reports, has us thinking of gathering a team for scouting. Dorcas, who leads the raids, doesn’t seem keen on it.” 

With a watery snort, Gideon pushed his plate away and shook his head a few times. “Yeah, her and the rest of these fools are perfectly content to sit on their arses and let them come to us. It’s only a matter of time now; I mean, look at what happened at your flat! That’s going to be the very near future for us all if we aren’t careful.” 

“What are you three talking about down there?” Molly’s voice cut over the clatter of a Weasley breakfast, and all three of their faces shot up; Hermione could feel the stain of a blush on her cheeks. 

“Nothing at all, Mols,” one of the twins mumbled. “Remarking on the delicious break—”

“And the jam,” the other twin pressed. “Truly some of your best yet.” 

Their sister’s eyes cut into narrowed slits as she bounced Percy on her hip, and the three of them resumed their conversation, this time their voices lower and their heads pulling closer. 

“I can check my notes. I’ve scoured them so many times I can’t imagine I’d miss it, but some of the notes I was given were obscure at best. I’ll look this afternoon, but what on earth are you hoping to accomplish?” 

Sucking his cheek between his teeth, Fabian ran a hand through his long hair and sat back. “ We aren’t quite sure…  _ yet. _ I swear if Moody has his say—”

Two sharp slaps to the back of the twin’s heads, followed by cries of pain and scowls, interrupted the conversation. Hermione stared up at Molly Weasley who was looming over the three of them. 

“What is the rule at this table?” No one answered. “Gid? Fabian? So help me someone better ans—”

“Oy! You’re acting like a bat, Mols. We know, we know,” Gideon whined, soothing the back of his head. 

Fabian interjected then, pouting petulantly as he rubbed his injury as well. “No Order talk.” 

“No  _ war _ talk at my table, especially when your impressionable nephews are around!” Molly stamped her foot and rearranged Percy on her hip. 

“Sorry, Molly.” Hermione shrank in her seat, feeling thoroughly lashed. 

“To be fair,” Gideon said, a smirk playing on the corner of his mouth, “my nephews are always around because you had a bloody army of ginger children. At least one of them is always around.” 

“Do you need me to knock some more sense into you? Enjoy your food, and you can talk about your battle plans at a more reasonable venue after. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Molly,” the three of them said in perfect unison, the twins still pouting. 

Breakfast concluded not long after that and the twins disappeared with promises to check on Hermione and their sister soon enough. After the table had been cleared, the young boys put to sleep, and the older ones banished to the garden for broom flying, Molly collapsed into a dusty, lumpy armchair with a long breath. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Hermione said, curling into the matching armchair. “You must be so tired.” 

The Weasley matriarch waved her off with a sleepy smile, kicking her feet up on the footstool. “It’s not so bad. Some days are worse than others.” 

“Thank you for having me for breakfast. It was lovely to see you all, and I miss your cooking more than you know.” 

“It’s my pleasure, dear. Now, the real reason for having you.” Molly pulled her wand from her apron and flicked her wrist. From the shelves a small wooden box floated forward, its contents rattling during its flight. “Here you are, a gift from the Order. Well, part of it.” 

Hermione’s brows furrowed in confusion as she plucked the simple box from the air and lifted its lid. Inside were maybe two dozen empty glass vials and a small scroll of parchment. Unfurling it, she found the incantation for a memory extraction spell, but there was another notation below it. 

“The first you may know; it’s a standard spell to remove the memories from your mind entirely. You would have knowledge of them, could view them again in a Pensieve, but you’d not be able to recall them at will.” The thought made Hermione’s stomach churn. “Now the second is slightly different, it duplicates your memory. You’ll still be able to view it in a Pensieve but it won’t leave your subconscious.” 

Thick emotion pressed on her vocal cords and with a misty gaze, Hermione looked to the witch across from her. “Why would you need the second if you can still recall it?”

The side of Molly’s lips quirked, and she rested her hands on her soft belly as she made herself more comfortable. “When you enter a Pensieve, it’s like you’re there. Like you can revisit the memory for the first time. That’s why we wanted you to have it. If there are memories that are too painful for now, you can protect yourself. But, if you want to safeguard your memories while they are still sharp, memories of your family and friends in your time, then you can. And when you’re lonely and you miss them—when you’re ready—you can see them again.”

Hermione’s jaw trembled as she let the scroll fold in itself again. “Molly, I can’t—”

“Poppycock. It’s yours. Besides, a handful of vials isn’t worth much but you’ll find a Pensieve in your room at the Headquarters. And don’t you start! It’s a gift from all of us. You’ve given up so much, and we’re happy to get it for you. It’s small but should do the trick.” 

Hermione sat clutching the box in her lap like a buoy, unable to vocalise her rampant, emotional thoughts. 

“I don’t want you to forget them, either. We’re all so lucky to have you, dear. I thought about having to leave my family, my friends—it breaks my heart that you’ve had to give that up. I hope you find some happiness while you’re here, and if it  _ has _ to be on the arm of that smarmy prat, James Potter, then so be it.” A cheeky smile split her lips, and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. 

“He’s really not so bad.” Her nose wrinkled. “Usually.” 

“He’s of a good sort, and if he’s caught your eye, he’s a lucky bloke.”

Hermione stood and leaned down to wrap Molly in a loose hug. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” 

“You enjoy it, my dear. Thank you for coming today; you’re welcome anytime. Just so long as you don’t let those twit brothers of mine rope you into mischief.” 

Hermione left through the Floo, clutching her belongings and heading back to Longbottom Hall. Upon reentering her room, she found the Pensieve just as Molly had told her, and she sat on the edge of the bed staring at it. She tried to catalogue her memories, the ones she couldn’t stand to let wane and the ones she needed to see again. But the thought of seeing her dear friends again twisted her insides in unfathomable pain. 

So with a tired sigh, she tucked the empty vials into her dresser drawer and made for the potions room, set to make some productivity from her day. 

xXx

As the afternoon turned to dusk, Hermione changed into something slightly nicer than what she’d been wearing for breakfast and Apparated to Diagon Alley. The Leaky was quieter than it normally was, but James was there at an otherwise empty table, staring at the door. A grin broke out on his face as soon as she entered, and he bounded across the pub to lift her off her feet in a bone-crushing hug. Between kisses, he told her how he missed her the last few days, and she squirmed as his stubble tickled her cheek. 

“It’s been a few hours at most, James.” 

“I know,” he said, setting her back down and grabbing her hand. “But I’ve been a negligent boyfriend as of late. Come on.” He began leading her up the winding stairs at the back of the room, and she huffed quiet questions behind him. He tugged her quicker down the hall and stopped in front of an innocuous-looking door. From his pocket, he produced a small brass key and waggled his brows at her before twisting it open. 

“James Potter!” she gasped as his hands filled with her backside and lifted her so her ankles could lock around his hips. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I got us a room for the night.” He grinned, pinning her against the closed door and assaulting her neck with open-mouthed kisses. 

“Why on earth would you do that?” she said breathlessly, twining her fingers in his wavy hair as her back arched into him. “We’ve perfectly good beds at home.” 

“Two reasons.” James dropped her feet to the floor and fumbled quickly with the buttons of her jeans, working with a speed she’d never seen as she allowed them to be dragged off her thighs. “One: I wanted a night away with my girlfriend.” 

James sank to his knees, running a flat tongue over her knickers before slipping them down and past her ankles. Hitching one of her knees over his shoulder, he began kissing her sex again and again, dragging low moans from her belly. “Second: I couldn’t wait to fuck you until later.” 

A disbelieving laugh burst past her lips, halted only when he pressed two fingers inside her and curled them. “You did not buy a hotel room just to— _ Ahh.”  _

“You’re fucking right I did.” Hermione could feel him smirk against her quim, and when he dove between her thighs, licking and sucking her clit, she forgot all reason. Her whimpers of pleasure filled the room. “Fuck, I missed you.” His hand filled with the thick of her arse, and she began absently riding his face, her skull colliding with the back of the door as she rocked on his face again and again. 

“Are you talking to me or to my…” 

“Both, love.” He nipped at her thigh and resumed his ministrations eagerly. With a few hard flicks of his tongue and that delicious thing he did with his fingers inside her, she came undone, stilling as her body pressed down on him. 

When her orgasm had waned, leaving her heaving for breath and starry-eyed, he shot to his feet and turned her so she was facing the door. With the toe of his boot he nudged at her ankles, and she obliged, widening her stance. Idly, she could hear the zip of his trousers and moments later he was slotted at her entrance, shoving inside her with a single thrust. 

She buckled, mouth falling open at the sudden, _delicious_ sensation _._

“ _ James _ …” 

He pressed against her, lips brushing her ear. “We’ve got friends waiting downstairs, so I’m going to fuck you hard against this door real fast. That okay?” A strangled groan slipped from her, and she bit into her forearm to keep from all out wailing. She could feel his grin against the shell of his ear, and he stepped back, dragging her hips with him. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he crooned and then began snapping his hips in hard thrusts that reverberated in the quiet room. 

Her legs shook as he drove relentlessly into her. As he did, his hands never stopped roving, digging his fingers in her hips and sliding up her spine to tangle in her curls. 

The familiar knot coiled hot between her thighs and he seemed to notice, commanding her to touch herself as he kept up a brutal pace. She listened, the mortification she ought to feel gone because of how much she bloody needed more relief. With a few swipes of her fingers, she shattered again, covering her mouth with splayed fingers. A couple of hard thrusts later and he spilled inside her, fingers digging into her shoulder as he hilted himself deep in her sex. 

“Fuck,” he breathed when the moment had quieted. 

A hazy smile worked over her lips, and she bit her lip to keep from completely losing it. “Fuck is right.” 

xXx

Hermione was drunk. She hadn’t been drunk in quite some time, and she hadn’t been  _ this  _ drunk maybe ever. It had started innocently enough, just a way to hide the shame as Sirius teased them about their sex hair and flushed skin. But now, she was utterly tossed.

James’ arm was slung around her shoulders as they all descended into riotous laughter about something Hermione couldn’t even be bothered to remember. As their guffaws faded away, James pressed a kiss to her temple and sat back in his chair, finger dragging down his beer glass again and again. It was the simplest of movements but it made her desperate for him all over again. 

“Tell us more about your first day, Petey,” Sirius said, eyes glassy from far too much firewhisky. 

Peter wasn’t  _ quite _ as pissed as everyone else although his cheeks were still pink and a silly smile was plastered on his lips. “It was a bit better than I thought. My supervisor is a bit of a wanker but it’s a job—real salary and all. That’s something.” 

“That’s helluva something, Petey! Proud of you.” Sirius lifted his glass in cheers. “To Pete!” 

Under the praise of his best friend, Peter Pettigrew beamed, lifting his beer to the centre to clink with everyone else's. 

_ Hiccup. _ “Wha ‘xactly will you will be doing?” Hermione asked, leaning forward to rest her chin on her palm. 

“Mostly what I thought, managing bank ledgers and vault comings and goings. Boring paperwork, mostly. And I’ll need an arse-ton of patience if I’m going to make it through those long days at a desk. I don’t think I sat still that long even at school.” 

“You’ll be brilliant!” she shouted, perhaps a bit too loud, a laugh barking past her lips. “I mean, you made it eleven years in hiding as bleedin’ rat! Your patience must know n’bounds.” Her words were a bit slurred, chased by a drunken giggle, and she wrinkled her nose to make sense of them herself before pushing her beer away. 

James chuckled nervously next to her. “Eleven years as a rat?”

Had she said that?  _ Fuck, she had. _ She hummed and tried to look innocent. “Sorry, whas that?” 

With a near glacial tone, Sirius cut through the tension. “You said Peter managed eleven years as a rat. What’s that about?”

“Leave it alone, Sirius,” Marley edged, squirming in her seat as her pale gaze darted around the table. 

Adrenaline pushed through her veins, sobering her slightly as she swallowed and sat up tall. “I don’t know. Drinks must have me confused…” But her traitorous gaze shot over to Peter, and her cheeks burned. Cradling her face, she begged the moment to pass, for them to move onto the next disastrous memory. 

“Sorry, Kitten. You’re not getting off that easy—” 

“No, is too complicated,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “I think I ought to—” She tried to stand and stumbled as she did, knocking her thighs against the table and rattling the glassware. 

James was quickly at her side, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving a wry laugh. “I’ll get the little drunk to bed. You lot close up. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?”

From what she could make out, Sirius’ stare stayed intent on her though he hummed his agreement. Somehow, they made it up the stairs and into bed, the world fading to a delicious black as her stomach churned from the monumental slip.

xXx

Hermione was pretty sure she wretched at some point in the night because she woke up in James' undershirt with a bowl next to the bed. Her head was  _ pounding, _ and she winced at the early morning light as she shuffled up to seating, letting James’ arm fall to her lap as she did. 

“ _ Fuck _ …” she groaned, pressing her fingers into her temple. She felt something soft drop into her lap, and she jumped, opening her eyes to find a small vial with what appeared to be pain potion and Sirius Black in the chair in the corner, his boots kicked up on her end table. 

“Morning, Kitten. I think it’s time we had a chat.” 

“What are you doing here?” Hermione hissed, her chest heaving as she fought the urge to vomit from the surge of adrenaline and scant alcohol in her system. Next to her, Jamie shifted in his sleep, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

Sirius’ brow arched, and he dragged his tongue over his teeth. “You heard me. It’s time we had a talk. Get dressed and meet me downstairs; a little hair of the dog will do you good.” He rose swiftly from his seat and left, letting the door crash closed behind him.

At that, James fully roused, grimacing at the morning light and tossing the sheet over his face. “What the bloody hell was he doing here so early?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I’m about to find out.” 

**xXx**

**A/N: AHHH! Omg I (kinda) missed an update. Sorry, had some personal stuff today and my mind totally and completely lapsed. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and I want to sincerely thank your for reading and following this little WIP of mine. It means ever so much to me! I’m sorry that I’m trash at responding to reviews but know that I read and cherish every single one.**

**Thank you as always to my BritAlphabBet: Farmulousa, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik for their continued support on this crazy journey of mine.**

**  
** **Hoping this update finds you all well and in good health and I shall be back next Monday! Unless I forget...**


	26. Chapter 26

March 1980

The Leaky Cauldron

  
  
  


Even with a solid Scourgify, she could still smell the stale alcohol and traces of vomit on her clothes. Her hair was an absolute nest, and the rest of her head wasn’t faring all that well either, but the pain potion did soothe a bit of the throbbing in her skull. 

That is until she had to take a seat across from a rather serious looking Marauder, his hands folded on top of the table and jaw set. 

“Morning,” she said with a grimace, falling into the booth. “Something you needed?”

“Yup.” His lips popped around the syllable. “I want to know whatever it is that you’ve been hiding from Petey. You see,” he said, sitting tall and eyeing her dangerously, “I like to take the mickey out of old Pete because he and I do that sort of thing. But the bloke is my brother, and I’d do anything for him. So whatever that slip was last night, whatever you’re hiding in that little notebook, I need to know.” 

“Sirius, I can’t just—”

“Bull-fucking-shit. You’re playing around with people’s lives. People I care about a great deal.” Sirius extended his hand, and Hermione stared at it a long moment before gripping it in a firm handshake. He produced his wand and with a muttered spell, a small band of golden magic twined around their interlocked hands. “Anything said in this conversation, I solemnly swear to keep secret and never speak of it outside the two of us.” 

Hermione blinked several times, focusing her attention on the warming effects of the spell before it faded away. 

“Now talk,” he commanded, steepling his fingers under his chin. The gray of his eyes was hard as steel and she felt an uncomfortable thrill run through her. 

Grimacing, she shifted in her seat. “It’s complicated.” 

“I’ve got time.” 

xXx

Over the following half-hour, Hermione spilled the truth. All of it. Even Marlene’s death and Peter turning, framing Sirius, and hiding as Scabbers. 

Through the entire retelling, Sirius remained stoic. Emotion only flickered across his features when she told him of Marley’s fate. 

When she’d finished the whole thing, she shrank back, playing with the side of her mug, holding the tea that had gone cold. 

“You seem keen to offer my friends and family up as bait, Kitten.” 

She flinched. “What?”

“How can you know Pete’s gonna turn and not tell him? No chance to get his head straight?”

“I  _ don’t _ know he’s going to turn—not anymore. Things have all drastically changed so I have no idea what’s going to happen; I only know what did. I had a plan, one that included luring You-Know-Who to Godric’s Hollow, but that’s gone. Impossible. The prophecy that marks Harry as the one to destroy him... it’s moot because he won’t be born.” 

“This is so fucked up.” Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled sharply. “Why does Pete turn?”

“I don’t know. There’s no information about why or when, just that something triggers it in the weeks leading up to Halloween 1981.”

Sirius groaned into his palms, “And if Halloween is no longer important, how in the hell are you planning to get Voldy alone? I doubt he’ll respond to an owl asking him round for tea.”

“I have one idea but it’s mad.” Gnawing on her lip, she tried her best to organise her hazy thoughts. “Before everything changed, a prophecy was made that stated that a boy born in late July will be the end of You-Know-Who. When he arrived in Godric’s Hollow, he  _ chose _ Harry as his equal. But Dumbledore wrote in his notes that it could have just as easily been Neville.” 

His brow tugged tightly together. “Neville?”

A knot settled in her throat, and she swallowed hard, fixing Sirius with a hard stare. “Neville Longbottom—born July 30th, 1980.” Sirius blinked back at her before erupting in loud belly laughs and slamming his palm against the table. Her lips pursed in a tight frown. “Excuse me,  _ why _ are you laughing?”

Sirius swiped a tear from the corner of his eye and his head fell back, exposing the stubble disappearing down his neck and his sharp Adam’s apple. When his gaze fell on hers again, he was void of any real amusement. “You’re going to go tell Alice that you’d like to lure the Dark Lord to her home so he can attempt to kill her firstborn child? I knew you were smart, but damn, Kitten.” He paused to suck his cheek between his teeth a moment, a smile fighting its way back onto his face. “This is your best one yet.  _ Please _ let me be there when you pitch this idea.” 

A shadow fell over the table, and they both jumped as James sank into the seat next to her, grumbling and groaning and smelling as awful as she did. “Fuck, I feel like shit.”

“Kitten, tell your boyfriend your genius plan to offer up the Longbottom baby as bait.” Another bark of laughter chased his words, and she cut her eyes into narrow slits at him. 

“That’s not at all what I said.” Turning to her boyfriend, she softly shook her head.  _ “But  _ You-Know-Who will most likely assume the child that will eventually lead to his demise is Neville. I’m not saying we offer him as _ bait,”  _ she paused to glare at Sirius. “I’m  _ saying _ we use that to our advantage to get him where we need him at the  _ exact _ right time.”

Sirius snorted. “When’s that again?”

“We time it perfectly. The attack happens right as we destroy the Horcruxes and weaken him.” 

The man beside her was still hunched over, massaging his temples and pinching his eyes shut. “I don’t follow anything you two are saying. Am I supposed to?”

“No,” they said in unison, leaning over the table to speak in hushed voices. 

“The problem is,” Hermione continued,  _ “Peter _ is the one to lead him to Godric’s Hollow. I don’t know how we are supposed to do that without him—without someone on the inside.” 

Sirius stared back at her, the gears in his mind working silently before he splayed his fingers on the table and nodded. “If it comes down to it, I’ll do it. No one else.” 

That caught James’ attention, his head shooting up to study his friend. “The fuck are you saying, mate?”

“I’m  _ saying _ we don’t keep Reggie in longer than we have to. We don’t send Pete in, and we sure as hell don’t tell him anything about what happened in your timeline; that’ll eat him alive. I’m saying that if anyone else is going in, it’ll be me.”    
  


“Paddy, you’re not—” 

“Let’s hope I’m not,” Sirius interrupted, folding his lips into a thin line. “But if it comes down to it, it’s me. No one else. Deal?”

Grey eyes locked onto Hermione’s, and her hangover, which had been an oppressive cloud hanging low over her head, had vanished. “Deal.” 

xXx

It was incredible what a hot shower and a greasy lunch could do for one’s constitution. She padded down the stairs feeling like an entirely new person. 

She tended to her potions, still insistent on brewing the Wolfsbane for Remus even if he wasn’t here to take it. When he returned—because he  _ would _ return—there would be a stockpile. As she floated the cauldron to the bay by the window to soak in the moonlight, a soft knock sounded against the door. 

“Hermione? It’s Dorcas. Are you busy?”

Slowly setting down the cauldron, Hermione crossed the room and opened the door. Dorcas’ wild curls rivalled even Hermione’s, although they were much shorter. She had a friendly smile, high cheekbones covered in freckles. 

“Hi, Dorcas. I was just finishing up in here. Did you need something?” Hermione’s brows pitched higher on her forehead as she stowed her wand. 

“Dumbledore wanted me to check in with you. I’m free for a few hours if you wanted someone to talk to.” 

  
Fumbling, Hermione nodded aggressively and sputtered out, “Yes! Yes, thank you! Should we…” Her features crumbled as she looked around her messy lab. 

“I’ll meet you in the library,” Dorcas said with a smile. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

About ten minutes later, Hermione made her way to the library. Dorcas was sitting on the floor with a pile of books, the fire roaring behind her. 

“Sorry about that.” Hermione fell to the ground, setting her journal at her side. With a shrug, she said, “I really have no idea where to start.” 

Closing her book, Dorcas’ lips bent in a kind smile. “How about at the beginning?” 

xXx

For the next half hour, Hermione showed Dorcas the photos and notes she had on the Horcruxes. 

The corners of the page curled, its surface covered in tea rings and ink stains. Some of the notes were in Dumbledore’s hand but the majority were her meticulous script. Dorcas read them silently, gnawing on her lip. 

_ Known Horcruxes: _

_ The Gaunt Ring  _

_ Location: Little Hangleton, North side of town in a small shack, revealed by Revelum Caligo.  _

_ Notes: Do  _ _ not _ _ wear; irreversible curse—possibly attached to all Horcruxes.  _

_ The Locket of Salazar Slytherin _

_ Location: Unknown—Cave by the sea _

_ Notes: Unreachable by magical means; RAB Missing and presumed dead Spring 1980.  _

_ The Journal of T. Riddle _

_ Last Known Location: In the possession of Lucius Malfoy as of 1992. _

_ Notes: Proceed with extreme caution; Riddle may attempt contact through the journal before it has been destroyed. Has the power to possess for short periods of time.  _

_ Nagini _

_ Location: Unknown _

_ Notes: A maledictus; created in 1994.  _

_ Harry Potter _

_ Location:  _

_ Notes: Created Halloween 1981.  _

At the bottom were quick notes from Dumbledore, circled words and errant thoughts, but the ones that stuck out were: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, the latter of which was crossed out so hard the parchment had torn. 

“I can only imagine that these,” Hermione pointed to the words at the bottom of the page, “are clues that the final Horcruxes must be very important to these Houses, perhaps even belonging  _ to _ the founders. The Locket was from the direct line of Salazar himself; I’ve no idea how You-Know-Who got it since he was an orphaned half-blood, but at some point, it came into his possession.”

“The death of Hepzibah Smith.” Dorcas broke out in a grin as she stared down at the page, her finger darting out to tap at the word Hufflepuff. “It was in the news when I was still at Hogwarts, and Professor Binns was particularly invested in it. You see, Hepzibah Smith was an old witch with little family, and she collected rare and priceless artefacts from magical history, often hoarding them for herself. I asked Binns about it at the time because she was well known, and an archived list of her belongings was published in the  _ Prophet _ .” 

“I didn’t think much of it at the time but....” Shaking her head in disbelief, Dorcas sat back, awe etched into her features. “But he mentioned that he’d spoken to one of his students—Caractacus Burke.” 

“Burke?” Hermione echoed. “Like of—” 

“Too right,” Dorcas laughed. “Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley. They had a shared love of magical history; Caractacus would stop by a few times a year to show off his new baubles. Well, Caractacus told Binns that he’d be interested to get into Old Hepzibah’s family vaults because, although he had no proof, it was rumoured that she owned priceless pieces belonging to two founders of Hogwarts. A locket, which he himself sold to her, and an item thought to have descended through the Smith line. Furthermore, the Smiths believed themselves to be the heirs of Helga Hufflepuff.” 

Hermione shifted in her spot on the floor, tapping her finger against her lips in thought.

“Now here’s where it gets interesting. Hepzibah Smith was allegedly murdered by her house-elf, who gave a full confession. The entire thing was rather strange because, as you know, elves are fiercely loyal to their masters. The case was on the front page for weeks; it was entirely unheard of. There was this one day when I was meant to come by to sort through some essays in Professor Binns’ office, and he was floating about, commiserating over the loss of two priceless heirlooms: the locket of Salazar Slytherin,” Dorcas paused, her finger floating to the page again, “and the cup of Helga Hufflepuff.” 

Shaking her head, Hermione’s hand shot to her lips, muffling her gasp. “A cup?” 

“Yes, a cup—more like a chalice, really. Neither has resurfaced since.” 

Pieces began shifting into place in her mind, locking together and forming the first tendrils of a thought. “What if her house-elf didn’t murder her?”

A lopsided smile worked over Dorcas’ features. “What if, indeed. If the locket somehow made its way into You-Know-Who’s possession, I think we can safely deduce that the chalice has as well.” 

It was a start. But even with this one small piece of the puzzle plausibly decided on, they still had no idea where to look for the blasted thing. “Is there anyone who may know what it looks like? Maybe someone in the Smith family?”

“Hepzibah Smith was the last of her direct line. It’s possible there are connections...” A wrinkle formed between Dorcas’ brows as a thought fluttered over her features. “I remember seeing a sketch of it though, maybe in the paper? I’m sure the  _ Prophet _ has public archives. That may be the best place to start.” 

Hermione nodded, feeling an odd pain at the idea of the end of the Hufflepuff line, and her thoughts wandered to the other house not crossed out at the bottom of the page. “And Ravenclaw? Any idea there?”

Lips twisting in a frown, Dorcas shook her head sadly. “Not off the top of my head, unfortunately. But I’m sure we’re on the right track… I’ll see what I can dig up but if you can make it to Hogwarts, Binns or one of the other ghosts may be your best bet. Their memories are long and may have an answer for you.”

“Of course! The Grey Lady; I’ll start with her.” 

At that, Dorcas laughed and pushed a particularly buoyant curl from her brow. “Good luck. I was in Ravenclaw, and that ghost is sooner to lob you from the top of Ravenclaw Tower than she is to say a passing hello.” Hermione’s features fell dejectedly, and the older witch nudged her with her elbow. “We’ll get you to Hogwarts, Hermione. We’ll find them—I promise.” 

It was an empty promise, one the witch had absolutely zero way of keeping, but it still filled Hermione’s chest with emotion so foreign that she barely recognized it. 

Hope. 

xXx

**A/N: Thank you so much for joining in for another week of 1979! I’m hoping your enjoying the story and I’m so grateful that you follow this WIP and for all your support.**

**Big thanks to my Alphabet: Farmulousa, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik! You guys are wonderful, and I appreciate you girls so very much.**

**Until next week, stay safe friends!**


	27. Chapter 27

March 1980

Central London

March was holding onto the vestiges of winter with a death grip, the temperatures hovering around freezing as the girls huddled under the shroud of a warming charm. 

Although the night had been quiet, Hermione still kept touching her wand attached to her thigh. It’d been charmed to stay concealed, but she knew where it was and would brush the vine carvings from time to time, a silent reassurance.

“So were you both in the same year at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked as they rounded the block of a particularly grotty part of town. 

Marley hummed and her eyes shot over to Alice. “We were. Alice used to get on with Remus actually—” 

Choking out a laugh, Alice reached around Hermione to swat at the blonde witch before shaking her head. “Are you never going to let that go?”

“ _ Why _ on earth would I let that go? It’s by far one of my most favourite memories.” Marley’s lips quirked in a crooked smile. “As a first year, Alice had the dopiest crush on Remus.” 

“Merlin, here we go…” Alice tucked her short hair behind her ear and rolled her eyes, the apples of her cheeks pink. 

“She was Alice Fortescue back then and in an attempt to win Moony’s heart she asked her parents to host a—” Marley broke out into riotous laughter, clutching at her midsection as Alice groaned next to her. “An—an ice cream party in the common room. They sent gallons of ice cream, and Remus got so sick because he’d probably never had a scoop and quickly overindulged. He ended up throwing up on Alice’s shoes.” 

“No, he did not!” Hermione choked out, finding Alice covering her face with her palms.

“He well and truly did!” Marley said with a laugh. “They were both mortified and for the next several years avoided each other at all costs.” 

Alice gently huffed. “I’d known Frank a bit, but he was a year ahead. We didn’t take up together until I entered the Auror program after school.” 

The idea of Remus and Alice together made Hermione’s nose wrinkle; she and Frank were so utterly perfect together that it seemed odd they wouldn’t know it from the very beginning. “So when did you and Remus…” 

“Ah, well that was short-lived really. I liked Remus because he wasn’t like the rest of the boys in Gryffindor. He was more thoughtful, less flashy. So seventh year we dated for a bit after Christmas holiday, but he was in love with Lily Evans and the whole school knew at that point.” 

“Hey,” Marley interrupted seriously, “Remus liked you.” 

Alice hummed in agreement. “I know, but it wasn’t enough.” She sighed, shoulders rising and falling slowly. “Which thank goodness it wasn’t; as soon as I was with Frank it made sense why nothing had worked with Remus or any other boy in school. Like the universe was conspiring to bring us together and had purposely sabotaged everything else.” 

At that, Hermione barked out a laugh and slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry—it’s not funny. It’s just that I completely understand that sentiment.” 

The two witches on either side of Hermione shared a knowing smile. “I think James feels the same way,” Alice said. “He certainly never had much serious before you and seeing him so completely enamoured is the strangest thing I’ve yet to witness—and that’s saying something.” 

Heat rushed to Hermione’s cheeks, and she folded her lips to keep from smiling. 

“Right, so then Alice and Remus had sex in the common room late one night thinking everyone was in bed when really we had snuck out to the Black Lake—”

“ _ Marlene McKinnon!” _

Laughing, Marley wagged her eyebrows. “And so we all walked in and saw Remus’ bare arse and we’ve never allowed either of them to live it down.” 

Even Hermione had to laugh, and the chastising coming from Alice seemed playful enough as she attempted to defend her actions. “It was only a handful of times, Hermione; I swear it. We both hadn’t and thought we just—Oh, Marley you’re impossible, you know. You better hope I don’t tell her about all the time we heard things coming from the boy’s dormitory when you snuck in there!” 

Marley smirked. “Own it, Al. One could do a lot worse than one of the Marauders. I’ll happily claim mine and every debaucherous thing we did behind those curtains.” 

“Ack!” Hermoine yelped, shaking her head and covering her ears. For the rest of the night, they laughed and traded secrets from Hogwarts, mindlessly wandering around London looking for trouble. 

xXx

Hermione had never actually set foot in the  _ Prophet _ ’s new building, but it was exactly as she imagined it would be. Behind the receptionist’s desk memos and parchments flew through the air, the reporters shouting and chattering at each other for the hottest news. 

With James and Sirius at her side, they approached the front desk. She stopped just before it, waiting as she stared at the young witch with ruby hair piled on the top of her head.

No response. 

Hermione swallowed and cleared her throat but the girl behind the desk continued smacking obnoxiously on a wad of pink bubblegum. 

Again, Hermione cleared her throat, this time a little louder—still nothing. “ _ Excuse me? _ ” 

Finally, the witch glared at them from over her cat-eye shaped glasses, pulling back her painted lips and baring her teeth in some strange semblance of a smile. “Hi.” 

Hermione’s eyes nearly bulged out of her skull and with a scoff, she ticked her head to the side, completely ready to school this witch on proper work ethic and politeness, but Sirius interrupted, stepping in between them and leaning over the desk with an easy smile. 

“Hi, love. How are you?”

The witch’s gaze snapped from Hermione to the smarmy wizard now giving her attention, a wide grin spreading across her lips. James snickered from Hermione’s side. 

“Do I know you?” The witch, a Miss Laney Clark if her nameplate were to be trusted, rested her chin in her palm as she gaped up at the charming git. 

Sirius let his gaze travel slowly over his face, going so far as to perch on the bloody edge of the desk as he loomed over her. “You could. If you wanted.” 

The witch swooned at Sirius' words, and Hermione groaned. “Can we hurry it up, Sirius?” 

The wizard in reproach shot a dangerous glare over his shoulder before turning his smoulder back to Miss Clark. “My friends and I were wondering if your lovely periodical has public archives?”

Her brows shot up, pitching together in confusion, and she blinked a few times in thought. Maybe her brain wasn’t full of gravel. “Oh. Well, of course we do but there are visiting hours so as not to interrupt our staff. You’ll need to come back. I could jot down the times if you like.” Her tone dripped with stomach-churning saccharine, and Sirius’ lips twitched into a smirk. 

“Well, you see, this is my friend Jamie. He and I are Aurors—we’re on assignment the next few days and we need to look through the archives for a case we’re working on.” Sirius opened his worn leather jacket and showed her what Hermione assumed to be an Auror badge as James also produced his own. 

“That’s another matter entirely then, Auror…” Laney leaned in close, craning her neck to offer her ear. “I don’t think I caught your last name.” 

“Black—Sirius Black.” 

The witch's eyes gleamed and her tongue dragged slowly along her teeth. “Well, Auror Black, you and your friend back there are welcome to enter once you sign in. But unless she,” Laney jerked her chin in Hermione’s direction, “produces an Auror badge, she needs to return during public hours.” 

“Sweetheart, please…”

It seemed his charms were fading because the receptionist clucked her tongue at him and straightened her spine. “I’m sorry, Auror Black. It’s policy. Here is the sign-in parchment and the archives are on the second floor.” She then eyed Hermione hard before returning her gaze to her desk and the trash magazine no doubt opened there. 

“You sign us in, Sirius. I’ll walk Hermione out and be right back.” James' hand came down on her lower back and guided her away as Hermione sputtered and attempted to dig her heels into the cheap tile. When he finally dragged her onto the street, he tugged her into the alley and shot her a look. “Stop being so combative.” 

“James! I  _ need _ to be in there! You and Sirius barely know what you’re looking for and—” With a groan, James reached into his jacket and shook free a charmed cloak that she knew all too well. “Oh, you brilliant man. You brought the invisibility cloak?”

“Of course,” he deadpanned. “I’m rarely without it, honestly. You never know when I’ll need to sneak into somewhere I ought not or spy on you when you’re changing.” Hermione leveled him with a murderous stare, finding his smile broadening. “Stick close; stay quiet.”

James fussed with his wool jacket and turned back for the business, leaving the door open a moment longer so she could sneak in behind him. 

“Got rid of the bird?” Sirius grinned, grey eyes sparkling. 

“Yeah. You ready?” Hermione stuck obnoxiously close to James' side, the weight of the cloak providing her a sense of security as they rushed past the receptionist. As they made their way down the hall, Hermione turned over her shoulder, her jaw falling open at the way the tart was staring at the boy’s behinds. 

They were up the lift and in the archives a few minutes later, finding it quiet and unoccupied. Hermione clawed the cloak off her and fussed with her hair. “That witch was checking out your arses!” 

James and Sirius shared a cocky smile and shrugged. “We have exceptionally good arses. Can’t blame her,” James said with a wink before slapping her behind playfully and turning for the formidable aisles of old periodicals. “Merlin, where do we start?”

After yelping and batting at his back, Hermione regained her senses. “Dorcas said that it was during the spring of her fifth year, but she couldn’t remember exactly the month, only that she was busy studying for O.W.L.s.” 

“She’s what four, maybe five, years older than us? Woulda put it about ‘72? Oi, why don’t I remember anything about this murder?”

James snorted and turned towards the appropriate aisle. “Probably cause you were chasing skirts, mate. I believe you were courting a fourth year at the time.” 

Lolling his head to the side, Sirius wagged his eyebrows obnoxiously. “Oh. That’s right.” 

“You’re awful,” Hermione said plainly, rolling her eyes and following after James with the cloak draped over her arm. The entire way to the aisle marked  _ Spring 1972 _ , Sirius cackled behind them, recounting the legs on the fourth year and how he’d  _ almost _ gotten to second base. 

A few minutes later they were sitting at a long table in the centre of the room with a small pile of folios around them ranging from January to June of 1972. The  _ Prophet _ released two editions each day, the  _ Daily _ and the  _ Evening _ , which meant there were upwards of one-hundred and eighty papers to sift through. Luckily, Dorcas had mentioned specifically seeing the news of Hepzibah’s murder on the front page but they would need to read up on all information they could get their hands on regarding her untimely death. 

As Hermione flipped absently through the February folio, all three of them froze. The telltale clicking of heeled shoes on hard floor approached. James cursed, grabbing the cloak, tucking it around Hermione carefully and then returning hastily to the task at hand. He stared at the words in front of him bug-eyed, and Hermione thought at once that he looked rather…  _ suspicious. _ He’d buried his hand in his hair, slouching his shoulders and hiding behind his fringe and hand. 

Across from them, Sirius beamed, his grin bright and happy as he leaned back in his chair. “I bet five galleons I know who that is—  _ knew _ I saw her out there.” 

“Shut it, Paddy. I will hex you under this fucking table if you so much as—” 

“Well!” A shrill yet somehow sugary voice pierced the air, and James bristled, his shoulders rising up around his ears. “You know, I was interviewing Mr. Lockheart—brilliant fellow—and I could have sworn I saw my favourite boy sneak by.” 

The blood drained from Hermione’s cheeks, her jaw falling open at the sight of Rita bleeding Skeeter approaching with a haughty smirk. She was wearing the gaudiest two-piece ensemble the colour of a tangerine and her face was painted up like she was going to a formal gala. But most importantly—she was very pretty. Her hair was near Malfoy blonde, meticulously curled with fat ringlets tumbling over her shoulders, and there was something alluring about the way her hips sashayed when she crossed the room. 

Hermione gaped as the witch came up to  _ her _ boyfriend and leaned her bum on the table right next to where he sat. Her gape turned to a glare as James’ hand fell away and he smiled kindly up at her. “Rita, how are you?”

A pretty pout turned Rita’s lips downward, her brows tugging together as she leaned into James space. “Could be better.”

James flinched when Hermione jammed a finger in his ribs, but he quickly recovered. “Saw your name on the front page a few weeks ago. Congratulations.” He was perfectly polite but the way that Skeeter stared at him made Hermione’s blood boil. 

“Hi, Rita!” Sirius said too brightly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Did you miss me?”

The tacky witch’s lip curled and she glared over her shoulder at Sirius for a split second. “No.” When her gaze fell back on James, her flirtatious expression had returned and she batted her eyelashes a few times for good measure. “I heard you made Auror! Let me take you to dinner on the paper’s dime so we can discuss your promotion, the department's comings and goings. Maybe get dessert after.” She leaned farther into James’ space, her breasts now just a handful of inches from his face, and Hermione was of the mind to trap the idiot in a jar, this time for the rest of her life. 

James turned his face up to hers with a grin that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “I’m seeing someone, Rita.” 

With a puff of her lips, Rita rolled her eyes and pushed off the table. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Anything you need help finding?”

“Say, Skeeter,” Sirius crowed and the mere sound of his voice made Rita’s nose wrinkle in disdain. “You’re a lot older than us, do you remember what month the Hepzibah Smith murder happened?”

Rita choked out a hard breath.

“It would be a huge help,” James added, his tone far more charming than it had been even moments earlier.

Shimmying her shoulders, Rita peered down her nose at him and her gears began churning. “I think late March if I remember correctly.” 

“I’ve heard your memory starts to go as you get up there in age…” Sirius’ lip twitched as he tried to keep a straight face, and Rita’s eyes fluttered closed as she dragged a long inhale through her nose. 

“It was March,” Rita amended before placing her small hand on James’ shoulder. “And the offer stands, Jamie—girlfriend or not.” 

Crimson stained the edge of Hermione’s vision, and she could feel the small crescent-shaped dents in her palms as her fists closed until she was white-knuckled.

Without further adieu, Rita turned to leave, her heels clicking with each step. “ _ Bye, Skeeter!” _ Sirius shouted, and to her credit, the witch didn’t so much as flinch as she raised her middle finger in the air and disappeared down the aisle. 

When Hermione was sure she was gone, she ripped the cloak off, her eyes cut into slits at her blushing boyfriend. “Did you have sex with Rita Skeeter?”

James had the good sense to appear appalled, his jaw falling open and eyes rounding. “Absolutely not.” From across the table, Sirius snickered into his palm and when both of their gazes snapped to him, he wildly waved his hands, his cheeks pink from keeping his breath trapped in his lungs. “Sirius, this is not the time for one of your bullshit pranks. I swear if you—” 

Sirius fixed a grave mask on his face and shook his head. “I would never.” He then turned to Hermione. “They didn’t have sex but not because Skeeter hadn’t bloody well tried. She gave us lessons… you know, how to shift into our other forms when we were kids. We ran into her again when we were in, what—sixth year? Regardless, she was starry-eyed for our dear Prongs. Nearly climbed in his lap at the Three Broomsticks.” 

“She’s just friendly,” James qualified, squirming a bit in his seat. “A bit tenacious, though.” 

Bile climbed up the back of Hermione’s throat, and she shivered from sheer disgust. “Isn’t she a bit older than you?”

“Oh yeah,” Sirius scoffed. “She was in her fifth or sixth year when she taught us. We’d heard rumours and although she denied her ability to shift at first, her services were easily bought. She was probably in her mid-twenties when she tried to fuck Prongs.” 

Stomach churning, Hermione reached for the book marked March 1972:  _ Evening Prophet.  _ “Just so you know, she also makes  _ very _ inappropriate suggestions at your fourteen year-old-son when he was in the TriWizard Tournament. She’s a menace. As recompense, I soon thereafter trapped the stupid bint in a jar as a beetle and kept her there until she’d learned her lessons about spreading salacious gossip.” She puffed out a breath, a curl flying away before falling back over her face. “Lot of good it did because she was back at it the following year.” 

With far too much vigour, she flipped the plastic-covered pages as if they’d personally offended her, her mouth set in a scowl as she rested her cheek in her palm. 

“D-did you say TriWizard?” 

The question was simple enough but Hermione felt a swell of panic churn in her stomach; that bit had slipped in her ire. A blush stained her cheeks, and her anger faded into awkwardness. “Oh. Well, yes. It’s a  _ long _ story but, you know, Harry was always getting himself into trouble.” An uncomfortable laugh slipped from her lips and when she finally glanced up at James for the first time, he seemed...  _ interested  _ in his hypothetical son. “Do you want me to tell you about it?” 

James nodded. 

Swallowing, she sat tall and gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “Well, I’ll leave out the nefarious bits for now but the TriWizard Tournament occurred during our fourth year. Only seventeen-year-olds were allowed to compete but Harry—” A smile fought its way onto her lips as she remembered the dopey look he’d worn when Dumbledore called his name. “He was the first ever fourth champion—and at only fourteen. He out flew a dragon, saved two people from the mer-kingdom, and…” Visions of Cedric Diggory’s lifeless body and a hysterical Harry after just barely escaping Voldemort flooded her mind, and she shook her head free of the thoughts. She settled for, “He won. He was brilliant.” 

When she looked at James again, she couldn’t name the emotion etched into his features, but she could feel it billowing off him. Something like confusion, grief, and awe all rolled into one. 

“He sounds like a Potter,” Sirius said, breaking the trance. 

James blinked a few times and remembered himself, chuckling quietly before turning back for the files. “Yeah, that he does.” 

xXx

Hermione stared at the copied sketch of the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, illuminated only by the light of the moon streaming through her window. It seemed small and was clearly an artist rendition, but it was something. She’d already made several copies and posted it around headquarters and sent them to each safe house with a note to contact Hermione Granger if anyone came across it. 

They’d spent several hours scouring the papers from March, duplicating each article with the  _ Geminio  _ charm so that she could pour over them again and again. During her cursory read through she’d not discovered anything new but she was sure more clues were hidden amongst the stacks of parchment they’d brought home. She couldn’t help but feel stilted. Everything was anti-climatic, like she’d been swimming for the surface, desperate for a lungful of air but instead barely managed a breath before being dragged under into the unknown. They were inches closer to their goal but it wasn’t enough to find a Horcrux. Not enough to bloody destroy them. 

Next to her, a soft snore lilted through the air, and she laughed at the Potter in her bed, hair all a mess and his limbs tangled around her. A soft smile bent her lips as she thought about the afternoon they’d shared. 

It’d been beyond strange to tell him such intimate details about Harry today. But it didn’t hurt like she thought it would, not until she remembered the dark bits surrounding the war. She felt almost happy to think about Harry like that—cheering while lofting a golden egg proudly over his head, stumbling through his first dance with Pavarti, and the goofy embrace he and Ron had shared when they made up. 

She pulled open the drawer of her end table and lifted  _ The Tales of Beedle the Bard _ from its resting place, flipping right for the photo of her and the boys. An ache settled in then, one that stole her breath as a few tears stained the surface of the image. 

As she shoved it back in the pages and tossed it back in, she heard the rattle of glass and remembered the box she’d stowed in there. Summoning her courage, she disentangled herself from James and found a space on the floor bathed in silver light with her wand and a box of empty vials. 

She started first year, ignoring the nasty early memories, then onto second and third. Pulling her favourite memories from her mind was like tugging free a tangled thread, except that thread was attached to a hundred other carefully woven memories. A slight headache formed and the final memory was the one from the Quidditch World Cup. 

She still had a dozen empty vials to fill but for now, this was enough. After stowing them back in her table, she climbed into bed, burying herself in James’ arms. With careful precision, she thought back on the memories she’d pulled; they were still there. A bit hazy, but there. 

Sleep didn’t take her for a long while as she sat there memorising them for herself again and again. 

xXx

**Thanks for following for another update! I hope you enjoyed it and I can’t thank you enough for all your support and feedback as I undertake this behemoth. I still find myself a bit shocked that I’m writing this lol I swore I’d never get a story longer than Unchained and yet here we are! I am, as ever, rubbish at responding to reviews! I try to snag a few as I can but my kids don’t like me on my phone all that much haha if you want to chat or checkout my fanart, head over to my tumblr! (same penname) I’d love to see you there.**

**Forever thanks to my BritishAlphabet: Farmulousa, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik for all their love and support when I feel like RIPPING MY HAIR FROM MY SKULL WITH THESE NAUGHTY MARAUDERS AND JKR WRITING IMPOSSIBLE CANON. Lol, okay drama done.**

**Until next week—**

**LK**

  
  
  



	28. Chapter 28

March 1980

Marauder House

A violent breath shoved past Hermione’s lips, her eyes rounding as she stared at her boyfriend. As realisation settled over her, she shook her head and retreated a few steps. “No.” 

“Oh, come on. Just for a bit.” James’ lips twitched into a charming, crooked smile as he reached his palm out for her. “For me?”

“Not happening.” Narrowing her glare, Hermione couldn’t help the anxiety roiling in her gut at the sight of James’ arm wrapped around his new broom, his fingers curling around the handle with a proud grin. “It’s dangerous,” she tacked on, her resolve wavering in the face of his unyielding glee. 

“You’ll be with me.” His fingers found her waist and tugged her forward. “I would never let anything happen to you.” There was a sincerity in his voice that she hadn’t expected and her lips twisted as time stretched on; she eventually gave him a begrudging nod. 

“Fine,” she sighed, “but I swear if you go fast or do a spin or anything untoward at all I will hex you.”

A broad smile split over his lips, and he leaned down to kiss her quickly before floating the broom in the air and tucking it between his legs. Hermione’s knees shook as she straddled it, sinking back against his chest. 

Lips brushing against the shell of her ear, he whispered, “Hold on tight,” and with a hard kick, they were soaring, hurtling for the impending sunset as Hermione shrank inward and clenched her eyes shut. In an attempt to focus her energy anywhere else, her mind lingered on the feeling of his chest against her back and his thighs bracketing hers. She concentrated on the soft rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat working in tandem. 

Finally, the broom slowed and the hard whooshing of the air on takeoff lulled to a soft breeze wrapping around them. She managed to peek one eye open and the sight greeting her made her gasp. Merlin, it was beautiful. The sky was painted in gentle hues of orange and pink, hanging over sloping hills that broke free from the forest. 

“Oh,” she breathed. The anxiety in her belly had transformed into something quiet and purring, and she relaxed into him, ignoring the dozens of metres below them. James rested his chin on her shoulder. 

“You’re not a bad flier, you know,” Hermione said with a smirk. “I would say this is top three broomrides I’ve ever been on.” 

With an indignant snort, he pulled to the side to glare at her. “You said you don’t fly. I thought I was a special exception.” 

“You are.” Her lips twitched into a smirk as she playfully avoided his gaze. “An exception I’ve allowed three times.” 

“You’re saying I’m top three out of three? That’s hardly an accomplishment.” 

Giggling to herself, she allowed one hand to stray from the handle and curl behind James’ neck, pulling him in for a deep, lingering kiss. She felt his lungs expand behind her as his free hand wrapped tightly around her waist and tugged her impossibly closer. Kissing him was the most exhilarating thing she’d ever done, a truthful sentiment even sitting upon a precarious broom with a distracted flyer. Their tongues brushed together, stealing the air from her chest as his hand drifted higher to grope at her breast. 

Absently, she rolled her hips, relishing in the pressure of the seat and the growing erection pressing into her bum and when she pulled back panting, she shook her head sharply. “This is not only dangerous but annoying.” 

Barking a laugh, the edges of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Annoying?

“Well, I’d much rather continue snogging you, but you’ve got me trapped on this death stick.” 

With a quiet chuckle and another soft kiss to her temple, he guided the broom forward, turning them in long lazy circles above the treeline as the sun tucked below the horizon. “Alright, let’s get back so you can have your wicked way with me.” James’ nuzzled his stubbled chin in the crook of her neck, and she yelped and swatted at him as he returned them towards the house. 

He took a slower time returning, and Hermione allowed her eyes to remain open, finding that she now trusted the man behind her more than anyone else on the planet. 

“I love you,” he confessed as the house came into view. 

Lips twitching, she turned just barely over her shoulder to peek at him. “I love you, too.” 

“Good. I want you to remember that.” 

Her brows furrowed, and she noted that his fingers had again curled possessively around her waist, this time holding her tight. “James…” 

A wicked smile bent his lips as he wagged his brows and dipped the nose of the broom dangerously towards the earth. She shrieked wildly, a shrill cry piercing the night as they corkscrewed over the trees and careened towards the grass in a seeming free-fall. Just when Hermione was sure they were going to collide with the earth and greet their untimely death, James shifted and pulled hard up on the broom. The tips of her toes just barely brushed the grass, and she sat frozen on the broom, her knuckles white from clutching the handle. 

James unmounted first, smiling proudly at her as he helped her from the seat. “I’ve a half a mind to kill you,” she growled. “That is  _ exactly _ what I told you not to do!”

Pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose, he shrugged and snatched the floating broom from the air at the same time he reached for her hand. “Rebel without a cause, love. Besides, you already confessed to loving me so you’ll just have to forgive me.” 

Adrenaline still pumping through her system and her hair now the size of a small tree, Hermione permitted herself to be dragged through the front door only to slam into the back of one James Potter soon thereafter. 

“Kitten! Prongs!” Hermione blinked several times and turned to find the most devious Marauder relaxing with his mud-caked boots kicked up on the coffee table and a plate of frosted cake in his hands. 

_ “Sirius.” _ James eyed his friend carefully and then continued with Hermione still in tow. 

From over her shoulder, that blasted wizard called out again, mischief evident in his tone. “Where art thou off in such a rush? Celebrating?”

Hermione dug her heels in, skidding and sliding as James attempted to pull her along. “What’s he talking about? Sirius, why are you being so weird?”

The man had the good sense to at least appear distressed before slicing off a bit of white cake and savoring it with an exaggerated moan. “I love birthday cake.” He grinned and used the pad of his thumb to swipe at an errant piece of frosting on the corner of his mouth. “Would you like some?”

“It’s not your birthday,” Hermione said lamely, furrowing her brow. 

“No—no it is not.” Sirius’ teeth gleamed in the dim light and he seemed so utterly pleased with himself despite making absolutely zero sense at all. 

“Padfoot…” Behind her, James groaned and loosened the hold on her hand only to bury in his face in his palms. “Why are you like this?”

Hermione blinked, her gaze snapping back and forth between the two men quickly. “What are you on about? I swear, I never understand half of your inane banter.” 

Down the hall, the door creaked open and Peter’s shaggy blond head emerged. “Oi! There you are; haven’t seen you all day!” An unsettling feeling swirled in Hermione’s stomach as their third housemate made his way towards them. She snapped her head back to Sirius who was sporting a face splitting grin. 

“James?” she asked, unable to tear her gaze from Sirius. 

“Happy Birthday, you wanker!” Peter barreled into James, happy as she could remember seeing him. James seemed to sag, loosening a groan as his friend slapped him on the back.  _ “Hey! _ Sirius, did you cut the cake? Molly sent it for James!” 

When James was free from the clutches of his friend, he turned with an abashed twist to his mouth and pink cheeks. Hermoine could do little more than gape, her heart slamming into her sternum as she stared at him. “James Potter, tell me right now it’s not your birthday.” 

_ “Ohhhh _ , that’s right…” Sirius crowed from behind them. “I know you told me to tell Peter something but it totally slipped my mind. What was it again?”

Lip curling, James craned his neck to peer around Hermione. “It was not to make a fucking fuss about my birthday because I don’t want to celebrate, you knob. Not everyone needs a legion of drunks to commemorate a year passing, you insufferable tw—” 

His words were interrupted by Hermione batting wildly at his chest. “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday! How… Why... “ Her lips continued to make various shapes in an attempt to formulate a proper thought but only inarticulate growls bubbled forth. 

Peter reappeared with a slice of cake, his eyes round and innocent. “What? What’s wrong? Should we go for a pint?” 

At that, Sirius erupted into full-body rocking guffaws, and James flipped him the middle finger for good measure before bending down and catching Hermione around the middle, tossing her gently over his shoulder. She kicked and yelped, swatting as his rear end as he stomped down the hall towards his bedroom. 

Once inside, he set her down, and Hermione huffed and batted at her curls. “Are you intentionally trying to infuriate me tonight?”

A surprising smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he crossed his bedroom and fell on his back with his hands tucked behind his head. “I am not. It’s only a lovely perk of having such twatish friends.” 

Some of her frustration waned, and her shoulders sagged. “Why wouldn’t you tell me it was your birthday? We could have…” Words failed her, her features pinching awkwardly to one side. “Done something special.” 

She’d never had a boyfriend for these kinds of special occasions, and she would have liked the opportunity to make it memorable. Maybe a gift or dinner or…  _ something _ . The exhilaration of the evening had turned sour, and she felt like an overblown balloon with a pin prick in the side, slowly deflating into sadness. 

“We  _ did _ do something special, Hermione.” James rolled and perched on his elbow. “We had dinner—” 

With a snort, she deadpanned, “We had fish and chips at the Leaky— _ and you paid.”  _

He continued on, ignoring the interruption entirely. “We went flying at sunset and you let me feel you up.” A bit of her hard shell cracked and a smile broke free. “And if I’m lucky I’m about to have some wonderful birthday sex and a slice of cake and fall asleep with you in my arms. That sounds like an exceptionally good birthday if you ask me. Best one I’ve had in years.” 

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she shook her head in defeat and reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it swiftly over her head. Curls tumbled back over her shoulders, and she basked in the doting gaze of her boyfriend as his eyes nearly rolled from his head. 

“See,” he said around a thick swallow, “smashing birthday.” 

With deft fingers, she pushed her jeans to the floor and stepped from her flats. James’ tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip as he scurried up to a seated position. 

She straddled his lap, hands curling over his thick shoulders as she said, “You’re acting as though we didn’t have sex this morning.” 

His hands roamed up her thighs and found purchase on her waist as he sat tall and pulled her flush against him. “Well,” he paused, grin hovering over her mouth, “that was just morning sex. This is birthday sex.” 

“Well,  _ I’ve _ never had birthday sex, so I’m not sure of the protocol.” She bypassed his lips and pressed a kiss to his jaw, then another and another, trailing up towards his earlobe which she caught between her teeth. “I’ll have to make it up as I go along, unless there’s something you’d like to teach me.” 

He hissed, his arms banding tightly around her, and the warmth of him sent a ripple of gooseflesh chasing over her skin. “How are you so perfect?” His palms filled with the weight of her breasts, kneading and dragging his thumbs over her nipples as she bucked against his burgeoning erection. 

They broke apart solely so she could rip the shirt from his body before they crashed back together again. With a snap of his fingers, her bra fell loose around her shoulders and he tugged it off. His hand slipped in the waistband of her knickers, and he dug his fingers into the thick flesh of her bum while his lips closed around her pebbled nipple.

Every touch set her skin on fire, tiny jolts of pleasure sinking into her nervous system as her head fell back and she lost herself in the sweet push and pull that was James Potter. Where he pinched, he soothed; where he bruised, he kissed. 

  
  


Threading her fingers in his wavy hair, she curled around him as he moved his ministrations to the other breast, the hand on her bum sliding up to the abandoned one and groping it roughly. 

Hermione forced her eyes open and focused her magic.  _ “Evanesco.”  _ Immediately, she felt the spell work as his jeans and pants vanished from between them. His teeth grazed her nipple as he grinned before pulling back to catch her gaze. 

“Cheeky.” As he spoke, he bucked into her and she could have come right then and there. “Work that magic on your own knickers before I rip them to shreds.” 

Her sex fluttered, and she clenched her eyelids shut, repeating the enchantment again. Gasping, she felt his hard ridge between her folds and dug her nails into his chest. 

Lifting her as though she weighed nothing at all, he found her entrance and nudged it with the tip of his cock. She was the one to sink down, taking her time as he filled and stretched her. Mouth falling open, she let out a quiet whimper when his thumb brushed her clit. As she seated herself fully, she rolled her hips, allowing herself to adjust as his hands roved her sides and chest before settling on her hips. 

James began rocking her, moving her on his lap. Quiet, pleasured noises came from her lips, and she pressed her palms into his chest, steadying herself. 

“Fuck, Hermione.” The simple praise rolled against her like a low tide, and she lost herself to the sensation of him. Lifting up, she quickly sank back down, repeating the movement until she had found a rough rhythm that had James squirming and sinking his fingers into her skin. 

As she fucked him, words of affirmation and praise slipped from his lips and urged her faster and faster. He buried his face in her chest and left wet, open-mouth kisses wherever he could. 

She could feel the first flutterings of orgasm, and she impaled herself on his cock and began rocking until she felt her thighs quivering from exhaustion. “James… I can’t—” 

Frustration shook in her vocal cords and he responded immediately, pushing her knees wider and then thrusting up into her. A broken cry slipped free as his hands gripped her waist and began moving her over his lap. Managing to wrench her eyes open to look at the man beneath her, she found his pupils blown and jaw clenched, staring at her as though she were the very crux of his universe. 

The tension in her sex snapped and pleasure chased down every nerve ending in her body, flooding her system with euphoria. Her jaw went slack and her nails dug into his chest as the final remnants of her orgasm waned. 

With a feral growl, James lifted her, positioning her on her hands and knees, and before she could make sense of it, he was behind her, prodding at her entrance. “Is this okay?” he asked, and no sooner had she choked out her consent than he was burying himself inside her. 

One hand curled around her hip, the other resting between her shoulder blades as he moved in slow, almost torturous, movements. Hermione shook, her entire body trembling from the sensation of the position. 

She arched her back gently, kicking her knee a little wider, and he sank deeper. They shared a tandem moan as his hip bones pressed into her bum. “Can you handle more?” James bit out, his fingers bruising her hip bone in restraint. 

Nodding, she curled her fingers in the quilt and focused on nothing more than the feeling of James pumping inside her, their skin slapping with each thrust. After a few moments, when she felt nearly at the brink of another orgasm but unable to get the proper friction, James guided them backward until he was resting on his haunches, his cock still buried inside her. 

Back pressed against his chest, she wrapped her arm around his neck and craned to kiss him, their tongues brushing between their parted lips. He fucked her slower again, his hand quickly finding her clit. As he slid his finger over her sensitive bud again and again, she rutted on his lap, that swell rising once more in her belly. 

Her second orgasm flooded her system, washing over her while her fingers pulled at his hair and her jaw fell open around his lips. Choking out sharp breaths, she went nearly boneless as the orgasm waned, and James quickly pushed her forward on her belly and then found her entrance again, fucking her hard as he laid himself over her, his breath hot in her ear. After only a few sharp thrusts, he stilled, his hand seeking out hers and threading their fingers together as he spilled inside her. 

The moment quieted, nothing but the sounds of the breaths syncing paired with James’ fingertips trailing down her spine. A sleepy, sated smile curled her lips, and she wiggled her body closer to his, syphoning his warmth while he peppered quick kisses along her shoulders. 

“See? Bloody brilliant birthday.” 

Hermione smiled, rolling to look up at him. “Let’s have birthday cake… then we’ll do it all over again.” 

xXx

Covered in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxers, Hermione sat with her legs draped over James’ lap, a plate of cake resting precariously on her knees. They took turns cutting off corners and fighting with fork spears over the frosting. 

As their shared laughter lilted through the air, two doors opened and the remaining Marauders emerged from their rooms. Sirius paused at the foot of the stairs to glare at them, muttering something about silencing charms and common decency before falling into his favorite lumpy chair.

“How was your birthday, Prongs?” Peter asked, following suit and claiming the chair at the far side of the coffee table. 

James’ tongue darted out to wet his lip before catching it between his teeth. His gaze flickered to Hermione, and she blushed under his attention, nudging him with her elbow as she cuddled deeper into his side. “Brilliant, thanks. Best one yet.” 

A loud groan rumbled from the disheveled housemate with the clunky boots and half-hearted sneer. “That’s really lovely, mate. We only spent every birthday with you for almost a decade, you prick.” 

In an absolutely adorable show of immaturity, James stuck his tongue out before devouring an extra large bite of cake. 

Peter chuckled and turned his attention to Hermione. “How goes things with the Horcruxes? Any word on the cup?” 

The air in the room stilled and shifted instantly, Hermione’s pulse quickening as reality washed over her. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “And Dumbledore is absolutely no help whatsoever. How Harry was able to work with him at all is beyond me.” Next to her James squirmed, and she folded her lips in a vain attempt to suck the words back in and hold them there. 

“He certainly enjoys this mysterious air about him, doesn’t he?” Sirius snorted. 

Frustration boiled in her belly, and she took her legs from James’ lap to tuck them under her. “For instance, I told that man that he had a bloody  _ beast _ living in the bowels of his castle, a monster that has killed children and will do awful damage in the future, and you know what he said?” There was a beat of silence, but Hermione didn’t wait for an answer. “He said to let him  _ think on it _ . That maybe he could think of a  _ new _ way to destroy the Horcruxes. That Basilisk is down there, right now, with hundreds of Horcrux murdering fangs and he wants to  _ think on it. _ ” 

With a hard puff of air she sent a few wayward curls flying and then sank back, scowling. 

The boys shared a look she didn’t pretend to understand, and Peter smiled crookedly. “Why don’t we just go on and get it ourselves then? If you need it and it’s there—I’m not sure I see the problem.” 

Hermione’s features flattened as she rolled her narrowed glare to Peter Pettigrew. “The  _ problem _ is that the monster is locked in a secret chamber under the Prefects bathroom in the most heavily warded and protected castle in England—quite possibly the world. That seems like a pretty big problem. Not to mention that if that monster so much as looks at us, we’re dead.” A shiver inched over her skin. “Trust me.” 

“Well, the last bit does seem a bit of a problem,” James conceded. “But surely, we can figure it out. We’ve got enough of us and if you  _ need  _ them, then it’s going to have to happen at some point or another.” 

Arching a brow, she turned to her boyfriend with an incredulous look. “So let’s say we somehow figure out how to kill this massive Basilisk with a murderous stare and a penchant for eating children—how on earth do you expect us to get  _ into _ Hogwarts? I don’t think Dumbledore is keen to let us walk the halls.” 

A spark burned in the back of James' gaze, and she could see the mischief curling his lips into a wicked smile. He looked to Sirius who was sharing a matching expression, and Hermione’s stomach flopped. 

“What do you know about the Shrieking Shack?” Sirius purred, and Hermione couldn’t help but choke out a laugh, her gaze darting from Peter to Sirius a few dozen times before she shook her head. 

“More than I care to, I’m afraid. You’re fucking  _ mad _ , I tell you… but I think it might be the only chance we’ve got.” 

**_xXx_ **

**_A/N: Hope you enjoyed the newest installment! Thanks so much for reading and following along with this WIP! Now that Ch 40 is drafted, I can officially say this is my longest story EVER! I never thought I’d write something longer than Unchained so this is quite the moment for me!_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_As always, thanks to my Alphabet, NuclearNik, Ravenslight, and Farmulousa._ **

**_I’m trash at responding to reviews unless there is something specific you want to ask, but I promise I read and adore each and every one! If you want to chat, come hang on Tumblr or Dumbledore’s Armada Discord!_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** ****_Much love and thanks! Stay safe!_

**_Xo -LK_ **


	29. Chapter 29

April 1980

Marauder House

“Do we  _ have _ to go?” James Potter was currently throwing a tantrum, splayed out over her duvet in his dress robes with one arm tossed lazily over his face. 

Snorting, Hermione slipped her dress on and fixed it over her shoulders. Marley had been gracious enough to lend her an outfit for the evening and while Marley’s curves were fuller and her legs far longer, Hermione had been able to find something more than suitable. The hem of the lavender garment kissed just below her knees and had flowing short sleeves with a tie around the waist. For being fashion she was completely unused to, she had loved it at first sight. 

Two of James’ school friends were getting married and while at first, he’d no intention of going, the possibility of seeing Regulus and fixing what she had previously botched at the Leaky Cauldron had been too tempting for Hermione and Sirius. Thus was the thrilling tale of why James Potter was wearing his finest robes and sporting a scowl. 

“Weddings are fun! I thought you Marauders were supposed to be all about fun.” 

He groaned, throwing his arm away from his face and against the mattress with a  _ thump. _ “Normal weddings are fun. Weddings for the Sacred Twenty-Eight are torture. Weddings where the eldest brother is marrying a Half-Blood and essentially ruining their bloodline are decidedly less fun.” 

Hermione reeled on him, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, and I suppose ending one’s pure-blood dynasty by sullying it with the lower class is so abhorrent to you?”

Propping up on his elbows, James levelled her with a heavy stare. “You know full well that’s not at all what I mean. What I _ meant was _ that the rest of his family is vehemently against their marriage; Graham Selwyn is a good bloke. He was the first of his family not to be sorted into Slytherin in a fucking century, but his family is still stuck in the old ways. Which means that half the wedding will be pissed off pure-bloods and the other half will be nervous half-bloods.” 

Lips folding in a thin line, she allowed a bit of her indignation to wane, and before she could further chastise him, he was on his feet and capturing her tight around the middle. “You know,” he continued, “I can’t  _ wait _ until the day I get to sully my fancy family tree with a Muggle-born wife of my very own.” 

The thundering in her chest must have been audible as she stared up at him, and awkwardness ran in her veins like a stampede of centaurs. She made a strange little noise, poking him in his hard belly. “Don’t tease me.” 

Something between them sparked and then stilled, leaving her breathless as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “Who says I’m teasing?”

Surely there were words she could speak that would make her sound enchanting and feminine but none of them came. In their absence, she lifted onto her toes and brushed her lips against his, letting her fingers curl around the back of his neck as her tongue traced the full swell of his bottom lip. 

He hummed, arms locking around her waist and pulling her off the ground as he tried to further the kiss. Breaking free from his hold, she scolded him with simply a hard glare. “You are not getting out of this wedding. Not even with sex.” 

Mashing his lips together, his gaze travelled the length of her body and his brows pitched together, his features transforming. “I’ve been remiss… I think I forgot to tell you how incredibly beautiful you are.” 

A blush blossomed to life on her cheeks, and she shifted nervously. “You’re just trying to charm your way out of the wedding and it’s not working.” 

“Maybe.” He smirked. “But it’s still true.” 

From beyond the door, Sirius called for them, and with a final long lamentation, James trudged for his bedroom door. “Let’s get this over with.” 

xXx

The Selwyn family home was modest but stunning. Hermione had recognised the surname from her time in the war and it came with certain negative connotations. As such, she had assumed she would be attending a wedding in a Victorian gothic mansion with Dark Magic billowing off the ground. 

However, they’d been greeted immediately by a very proper house-elf wearing a crisp, ivory pillowcase cinched at the waist and then guided around the back of the home to the gardens. A semicircle of chairs faced a beautiful arch with vines crawling through the lattice. 

Champagne floated on silver trays and while James grabbed two glasses for her and Marley, Sirius pulled out a flask and took a long pull before handing it to his friend. 

“I can’t believe Graham is taking the plunge,” Marley said around the lip of her champagne flute.

“Ah, he was mostly married seventh year. He and Delpha have always been inseparable.” Sirius craned his neck as he spoke, searching the crowd. “Frank and Alice were together less time and hitched about as soon as they could.” 

Sipping on her champagne and swaying to the gentle melody of the string quartet, Hermione couldn’t figure out why James was so against attending. “This doesn’t seem quite as tense as you painted it, James. Everyone seems to be getting along fine.” 

“That’s because the riff-raff is just arriving.” James jerked his chin towards where they had just entered, and the breath in her lungs turned to ice. 

Lucius led a small troupe of elegantly dressed witches and wizards, each one with sharp aristocratic features and their chins tilted just  _ so _ . On his arm was plausibly Narcissa Malfoy, her pale hair twisted into a chignon and flowing pale blue robes draping over her pregnant belly. 

Just a step behind her was her wild sister, and Hermione’s gaze darted nervously to Sirius, whose lip was pulling into a scowl. She had curls more wild than Hermione but the deep color of squids ink, and as she surveyed the gardens with a severely arched brow, Hermione couldn’t help but think how utterly  _ normal _ she looked. The wild glint of madness was missing from her dark eyes, Azkaban having sent her spiraling into insanity after the war. The wizard escorting her, however, stuck out a bit like a sore thumb. His hair was wiry and a dull orange, his features gaunt and grey. 

The small group entered and Narcissa blossomed, smiling and waving at the crowd milling about while the rest of them remained stoically silent. 

Just a moment later, Theodore Nott Sr. swept grandly into the space, a long black cloak dusting the ground though it was April and sunny. As if he could sense her very stare, his dark eyes shot to hers, and he stared for a long moment before his lips twitched into a crooked smile and he ducked his chin in a silent greeting. 

Hermione’s stomach flopped dangerously and she swallowed the rest of her champagne simply for something to do. 

“Come on,” James said in her ear, “Let’s get a seat near the back.” 

xXx

The ceremony was beautiful, despite the mother of the bridegroom openly weeping into her handkerchief with her husband looking on at the matrimony as though it were an execution. 

Finally they arrived at Hermione’s favourite part: the magical handfasting. She’d been just as enamoured with it during Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and she found herself teary eyed as she watched.

Winding his arm around Hermione's shoulder, James leaned into her, lips just barely brushing the curls twisting around her ear. “Do you know much about it?” he asked, alluding to the ethereal silver magic twining around wrists of the bride and groom. 

Hermione shook her head but didn’t tear her gaze from the sight. 

“Not every couple does it, as it’s a bit archaic honestly, but the spell binds their magic; they’re linked. It’s like claiming your own soulmate—they’re yours forever.” 

She snapped her face towards him, studying the delicate curve of his lips and the gold dusting his hazel eyes. 

_ Forever. _

She let the word bounce around her mind, testing the weight and feel of it. They shared a private smile, and he leaned in to press a kiss against her lips, letting it linger for an extra heartbeat before pulling back and resting back in his chair. 

As she dragged her attention back to the couple, she caught sight of Narcissa Malfoy staring daggers in her direction. The facade she’d donned upon entering the gardens had faded into a glacial glare aimed just at Hermione. She was a stunning witch; there was no doubting that, and with the slightest of sneers, she shifted in her seat and locked her eyes ahead. 

The ceremony concluded and the guests made their way to a tented area with linen-covered table cloths and giant silver candelabras. The four of them found their seats and waited, falling into easy conversation as they finished drinks and new ones arrived. 

After a short time, the newlyweds entered the tent and everyone rose to greet them as they made their way to a small private table in the front. 

“She’s pretty enough,” Hermione overheard a tired voice say from the table behind them. “It’s a shame she’s only half.” The woman made a clucking noise, and Hermione couldn’t help but whip around in search of the bigot. 

James was faster, twining his arm around her shoulders and bringing her back. “Love, that’s a very good way to get yourself a whole bunch of unwanted attention. You won’t be changing her mind.” 

Huffing, Hermione fell back into her seat and Marley was quick to reach over and pat her thigh. “S’Okay, Hermione. You’ll find quiet payback is far more fun.” With a wink, she covered her mouth with her fingers and disguised a quiet spell with a fake cough. The witch behind them shrieked, shouting about spilled champagne.

Biting back her laughter, Hermione’s attention caught on Sirius shifting nervously from the far side of Marley and jerking his chin towards a table clear across the tent. “Reg is here… and sitting with those Death Ea—”

_ “Padfoot!” _ James shot nervous glances over his shoulders before leaning in over the table. “Not here.” 

Grumbling, the eldest Black settled back, muttering something unintelligible about kidnapping his baby brother. 

Before long, the happy couple swung into an easy embrace and shared their first dance together as husband and wife. Their love for each other was etched deeply into their features, and Hermione was lost in the beauty of their love. James curled around her, pressing his chest against her back and swaying them gently as he hummed along to the familiar tune.

As the slower melody ended, the band lifted into a jovial tempo. Within moments the boys were grinning at each other and moving to the beat. Hermione choked on her laughter at the sight. James Potter, for all his physical prowess and boasting, was a gods-awful dancer. He jerked and jumped about, lost in the music and uncaring that he looked like a complete and utter fool. 

Marley, now pink-cheeked in her inebriation, clutched to Hermione’s side, guffawing. “Would you believe it if I tell you that he’s actually gotten better since school?” 

Laughter spilled through the air as they watched the two Marauders shredding on air instruments. “I’m not sure I can imagine it much worse!” she called over the music and a grin stretched over Marley’s lips. 

“Trust me… He used to do this move where he— Oh, for fuck's sake. That’s it.” She pointed at James who was rolling his body like a snake while upright. “That’s the stupid fucking move.” Tossing her hands up in the air, she turned to Sirius who seemed to be at least somewhat more controlled in his gyrating movements. “You! Come here to me!” 

Sirius feigned surprise, pointing to his chest and darting curious glances over his shoulder as Marley crooked her finger in his direction.

The night was perfect, untouched by the stain of dark wizards Hermione knew were still lingering in the outskirts of the reception. 

“I’m going to get a drink!” she shouted, and James paused his wild flailings to follow her. When they were safely away from the dance floor she said, “You  _ really _ like to dance.” 

Dragging a hand through his wild hair, he smiled broadly. “Well, love, when you’ve got the moves like I do, it’s a shame to waste them.” 

“I wouldn’t have imagined these stuffy pure-bloods having such a modern taste when it comes to music.” Even as she said it, she studied the row of disgruntled witches and wizards in the back of the tent who stared at the younger crowd with wrinkled brows.

“Ah, they probably don’t. But if I know Graham, this was a surprise for his parents. That’s them over there,” James said, jerking his chin. “The two with the red faces that look like they’ve just smelled a pile of hippogriff shite."

Laughter erupted from her belly as she snagged champagne from the bar and he ordered another whisky. “You know what I love about you, James?”

“Hmm, my good looks? My charm?” He stepped into her and his gaze travelled down the crease of her cleavage as he licked his lips. “The way I can make you—”

“Ack!” Hermione planted her fingers against his lips to quiet him but instead he kissed and nipped at them before guiding her back to the table. “You’re incorrigible.” 

For a few stolen moments, they were just James and Hermione. Just two kids who’d gone and done something as stupid as fall in love during a war. In all the ways she had planned and plotted the rest of her life, she could have never in her wildest dreams planned for this. And it was almost like the last six years of Hogwarts had been training for these moments. 

Then, as it always did, reality came crashing down again. “Look,” James nodded, his face suddenly serious. “It’s Reg.” 

Hermione followed his stare and sure enough on the far side of the tent, Regulus stood— _ alone _ . His brow was arched high as if the entire evening was a bore to him, and he sucked on a half drank glass of champagne as he watched. 

“I’m going to try and talk to him,” Hermione said.

“I’ll come—” James made to stand, and her hand darted out, resting on his thigh. 

“I don’t want it to be an ambush. I just want to make sure nothing has happened to Kreacher and see if I can’t get him to change his mind on working with us. I’ll be right back.”

James shifted uneasily but said nothing as she stood and crossed the tent. Up close she could see the differences that she’d been blind to at first. Light purple circles shadowed Regulus’ eyes, his cheeks a bit more hollow, eyes tired and distant. She barely knew the bloke but her heart twisted at the sight of him. 

“Hello,” she said lamely. 

He tensed as she came to a stop at his side. “Good evening.” 

“Beautiful wedding.” Regulus hummed in response, and she grimaced at her own awkwardness. Damn her for not being born with the proper Gryffindor charm. “How have you been? Sirius has—” 

“Hermione, wasn’t it?” he interrupted, turning to stare down the sharp ridge of his nose at her. “If my brother wants to speak to me, he knows where I am. I don’t need him to keep a Mudblood messenger.” The apples of his cheeks darkened as he bit out the slur, and his eyes darted around as if he were scared someone might be listening. 

“I’m not his messenger—Mudblood or otherwise. He’s just been worried about you, and I know you don’t know me and you think I’m batty, but I’m not. I can help you if— _ when _ —things go bad.” 

Something indescribable flashed across Regulus’ features but he quickly painted his hard mask on, and his lip curled for good measure. “You’re naïve if you don’t think things are already bad. It’s only a matter of when they're going to get worse. Have a good evening.” Then he was gone, not sparing a single look back. 

Merlin, the man was more impossible than his brother and in entirely different ways. Where Sirius was boisterous and warm, Regulus was cold and calculated. They were only alike in that both of them would succeed in driving her mad. 

With a long-suffering sigh, she turned her attention back to their table and nearly gasped when she saw a beautiful blonde in pale blue robes in her seat. Narcissa Malfoy’s slender fingers reached out for James’ tie and while she could tell that her boyfriend looked uncomfortable, plucking the fabric from her fingers a grimace, he did little in the way of stopping her. 

Hermione glowered, brow wrinkling as she continued to watch the pregnant witch shamelessly flirt with her boyfriend. 

“Miss Granger.” A dangerous purr sounded in her ear, and the fine hairs of her neck prickled as the now familiar blond wizard came up to her side. 

“Malfoy.” She rolled her eyes and drained her drink. “Your wife looks lost.” An amused hum vibrated from Lucius and suddenly his hand was on her lower back guiding her towards the dance floor as the music turned to a slow melody. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Stealing you away for a dance. Surely your little boyfriend can stand to be parted with you for the duration of a single song.” 

She wanted to deck him, to lay him out flat like she had his son all those years ago but the phrase  _ unwanted attention _ rang in her ears. Her teeth ground together as he took a formal dance pose and began leading her through a set of uncomplicated moves. 

“Won’t this stain your reputation? Being seen dancing with a Mudblood?”

A smirk played on the corner of his lips as he looked down at her. “Not at all. Pure-bloods take mistresses all the time. You’re still fine for things like fucking and dancing; it’s just the marriage and breeding we take issue with.” 

The edges of her vision turned crimson, and she was quite close to driving the sharp bone of her knee into his crotch but he continued on without pause. “They used to date, you know: James and Cissy.”

Hermione blanched, her rage quickly cooling into confusion as her eyes snapped to the interaction just over Lucius Malfoy’s shoulder. “They did?”

“Well,” her partner snorted, “they used to have sex. Dating is a novel concept for James Potter, one I’m surprised he’s taken up with you.” 

“You sound like you know him well.” The obvious tension between them turned into an almost neutral space, and her defenses lowered just slightly. 

“Let’s just say his reputation precedes him.” Rolling his eyes, he turned them again, his lips pursing in thought. “I’ll admit I’m most curious about you, Miss Granger. I found that you now have records on file with the Ministry of Magic.” 

Her heart galloped in her chest, and she swore her palms broke out in a sweat. “I always have, maybe you overlooked them.” 

His eyes flashed dangerously. “You appear from nowhere, sinking in with those degenerates as though you’ve always been. Your clothes are strange as is your dialect—even for a Mudblood. I want answers, Miss Granger, and I want them now.” The blunt edges of his nails sank into her hand, and she could see the taut tendons in his throat as his carefully crafted composure threatened to snap.

Swallowing thickly, she managed to extricate herself from his hold. Smoothing down the fabric of her dress, she then pinned him with an unamused stare. “I’m no one, Malfoy. Just another witch who fell for James Potter” 

His lips pulled back into a snarl but before he could speak, he hissed and stared down at his left forearm, covered by his expensive robes. 

A moment later, James arrived, tossing his arm over her shoulder, Sirius and Marley just behind him. “Hello, Lucius,” James crooned. “I thought maybe you’d learned your lesson about harassing my girlfriend the last time. Or do I need to break your nose in front of your boss to teach it to you again?” 

The air between them sparked. “You insolent little—” 

“Malfoy!” Theo Nott called from the fringe of the dance floor. “We need to go.” Just behind him stood Regulus and Bellatrix Lestrange, her eyes sharp and missing nothing as she studied Hermione too closely. 

“This isn’t over.” With a sneer, Lucius swept from the dance floor. 

When the Death Eater brigade was finally out of sight, Hermione’s knee buckled, and she sucked in her first real breath of air since she’d approached Regulus. The chaos of the reception felt heightened, attacking her senses as she clung to James’ arm. 

“Can we go?” she managed, eyes darting frantically around the room. 

James studied her, palms cradling her cheeks, and he nodded. “Of course, love.” 

They made for the Apparition line and Hermione felt it again, that nudging at the forefront of her mind from the last time Malfoy tried to enter her mind. She stilled, whipping around until she saw Lucius with his pack of thugs and beautiful wife. Hermione pushed him out of her mind, allowing him nothing. 

But even as they arrived at the Marauder House, far from Lucius Malfoy and his horrible attempts at Legilimency, she could still feel the imprint of his magic and the dents in her hand from where he’d marked her. 

xXx

**_A/N: Decided to update this evening instead of the morning because I’ll be running around. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you so much for reading and following along! I appreciate all your support!_ **

**_Big thanks to my BritAlphaBet: Farmulousa, NuclearNik, and Ravenslight for making this all pretty from the garbage I sent their way haha truest MVPs around!_ **

**_Hope your weekend has been full of rest and your week is beautiful._ **

  
  
  
  



	30. Chapter 30

**The opening excerpt is a direct passage from** **_Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling_ **

April 1980

Longbottom Hall

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach a gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken’s egg, hatched beneath a toad. It’s methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from it’s deadly stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee from before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

  
  


“Oh my gods.” Hermione groaned into her palms, dropping _Most Macabre Monstrosities_ on the settee with a soft _thud._ “How could I have been so stupid?”

James quickly snatched it from her lap as Peter chuckled to himself and said, “I don’t think you’ve ever been stupid, Hermione.” 

The sweet compliment softened her hardened edges a little, and she paused in her indignation to smile kindly at her friend. “Thanks, Pete. But here I’ve been rather remiss.” 

“Basilisk problems?” James spoke from the side of his mouth as he scanned the page she’d been reading—the same page she’d read in her second year at Hogwarts. 

“I don’t know if it’s a problem but it’s going to be a mess. The Basilisk’s mortal enemy is a rooster.” She stopped short, blinking at the ridiculousness of her own words. Visceral memories of the news of a pen of dead chickens outside Hagrid's floated to the front of her mind, and she winced at the very thought. 

Peter laughed, kicking his feet up on the small table between them. “Why in the world would the King of Snakes be afraid of a bloody chicken?”

“Not a chicken,” Hermione deadpanned. “ A rooster specifically. It’s crow kills them—it’s fatal.” 

From over the edge of the book, James’ gaze shot to hers, the space between his brow wrinkled in confusion. “We have to… We have to bring a rooster in this Chamber of Secrets? To kill the Basilisk?”

“Well, we could always try to fight it but that would be problematic seeing as we can’t look at it and it’s impervious to most magical means of murder. Harry killed it by stabbing it in the roof of its mouth after a Phoenix pecked its eyes out. He almost died from the venom.” 

“This was your _second_ year?” James sat up proudly. “Look at that, Harry Potter slaying beasts at twelve years old. Must have taken after me?”

_“Riiiight,”_ Peter drawled. “This coming from the bloke who used to jump on his trunk when a shadow crossed the floor.” James glowered and kicked at him but the pair ended the altercation in laughter. “So we just bring the chicken to the school? Easy.” 

Withering where she sat, Hermione groaned again. “We have to sneak through Hogsmeade, get into the Shrieking Shack through a narrow secret passage past a notorious willow tree, through the castle and into the fifth floor prefect’s bathroom. And that’s not it! Then it's down a very dangerous passage with a steep drop into a stone chamber all while _holding the bloody rooster._ And, we have to get it to crow… in a sunless dungeon. _”_

“That’ll be alright…” James offered, but his face was pulled into a grimace. 

“Okay, mate. We’ll let you wrangle said rooster for the rest of us.” Rolling his eyes, Peter pushed off his thighs to stand and then made for the Floo. “Now we just need to find the damn thing. I’ve got to go; I’ve got work in the morning. But, I forgot to mention, Remus owled—he’ll be home the last week of June after the moon, just after the end of term.” 

Hermione exchanged a look with James as he said, “Looks like the great Rooster Raid of Hogwarts has a date.” 

xXx

Two weeks passed, and as May approached, Hermione found herself eagerly counting down the days until their secret mission. Her list of things to complete before said mission remained the same: They didn’t have a rooster. They didn’t speak Parseltongue. They had absolutely no way of fighting off the Basilisk if for some reason the rooster wouldn’t crow, and they needed to actually combat the beast. Furthermore, they had no sword of Gryffindor or Fawkes as a back-up plan. 

They were royally screwed. 

She’d torn apart Flourish and Blotts as well as Longbottom Hall and Potter cottage in search of books on Parseltongue but found that the ancestral family libraries didn’t boast much in the way of books about perfecting the practice of Dark Arts. Not that Parseltongue was inherently dark, but it _did_ hold certain connotations. 

Knowing full well that James would throw a complete fit if she suggested wandering Knockturn Alley, she instead went with the next best choice available to her: Sirius Black. 

He rather fit in the shadows of Knockturn; his boot heels clunking along the dark cobblestone and scowl set on his handsome face. They’d both donned cloaks, the hems of which were drenched from the collected rain water flooding the low street. It was wishful thinking that they wouldn’t be noticed because every damn person they passed stared sidelong at them. 

“I think we ought to check Bourgin and Burkes,” Hermione said quietly. “Then head over to Obscurus Books.” 

“Borgin and Burkes; are you sure? They aren’t really a collector of books if I remember correctly.” 

“They collect oddities, though, and we may find something useful.” 

Huffing a breath through pursed lips, Sirius shook his head and shrugged. “If you say so, Kitten… Fuck, Prongs is going to beat my arse when he finds out.” 

“He’s on Auror duty in London,” she deadpanned, reaching for the handle of the shop. “He’ll never even know.” 

Hermione had never been inside the mysterious shop before. The dim light caused her to squint at the artefacts lining the wall and behind glass cases. When she rounded the corner, her eyes caught on the looming vanishing cabinet, seemingly unchanged by time from the one she’d see in the summer of 1996. She’d stopped so abruptly that Sirius hadn’t noticed and barrelled into her back, hissing an expletive as he swatted at her curls. 

“How Prongs doesn’t suffocate under that mane is a mystery.” 

She rolled an unamused stare in his direction before resuming her way to the counter. As she impatiently tapped her finger against the glass case, she wondered if the store was even open. The front door was, obviously, but no living soul seemed to be in the shop outside her and Sirius. 

Behind her a shelf of knick-knacks rattled and something crashed to the floor. Whipping around she found an abashed Sirius staring in horror at the mess he’d made. He mouthed a silent _sorry_ and from the corner of her vision a shadow passed. 

When she turned again, a tall, lean man stood before her and she gasped, clutching at her heart at his sudden appearance. He had gaunt, high cheekbones that loose skin seemed to hang from and a tight pursed mouth. 

“Hello,” he said, the timbre of his voice so low it was almost unnatural. 

“Good afternoon. I’m wondering if you might be able to help us find someth—” Her words were cut off by more crashing of antiquities behind her, and she grimaced before continuing. “ _Something.”_

The man behind the counter glared sharply over her shoulder, his thin lip curling for a moment before he brought his attention back to Hermione. “What is it that you’re in search of?”

“I’m wondering if you might have anything pertaining to the ability to speak Parseltongue.” 

Something unreadable flickered across his features, and he stared back at her for a moment of fraught silence. “That’s an odd request.” 

She blinked. “Yes.” 

“Do you have any idea what you might be looking for? Perhaps that might help.” 

“I really am not sure. I’ve recently begun to study the phenomenon and while I know it’s mostly hereditary, I am wondering if it’s not possible to learn. Anything you have on the subject matter would be—” The curtain behind the counter slid to the side and Theodore Nott appeared, stealing the air from her lungs. 

He was shorter than the fragile man she’d been speaking to but he took up more space, as if his very persona demanded attention from anywhere in the vicinity. She could scarcely remember his son but from her limited memory and interaction with him, he was quite clearly nothing like his father. 

“Ah, Miss Granger. I thought I heard your voice.” She couldn’t place the exact colour of his eyes but the shade was irrelevant to the sharp cut of his stare; it lanced through her until she felt like her breath was leaking from inside her. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say hello at the Selwyn estate. I was rather quickly called away, or I would have delighted in taking you for a turn on the dance floor myself.” 

She could feel Sirius’ presence behind her, and she wanted to leach the warmth and courage from his body. “Nott,” he said flatly. “Why am I not surprised to see you here? Any other Death Eaters hiding back there?” 

Theodore rolled his eyes but didn’t give Sirius a lick of his attention. “I heard you asking about Parseltongue from my seat in the back and thought I might be of service.” 

“Y-you work here?” Hermione’s eyes darted between the two wizards behind the counter. 

Charming laughter trilled through the air, and Theodore began spinning a small golden signet ring on his pointer finger. “I am a purveyor of ancestral antiquities. I find them rather fascinating and Mr. Bourgin here entertains my whimsy.” 

Hermione’s nose wrinkled; surely there was no whimsy about this man. “I’ve just become a bit enamoured with the idea of Parselmouth. We were shopping in Diagon and I had a thought to check here.” 

“Here?” Nott’s eyebrow lifted but the rest of his face remained impassive. “In Knockturn Alley? Colour me surprised.” 

“Maybe we ought to just go,” Sirius said, nudging her in the back. 

At that, Theodore’s gaze finally lifted and a wry, crooked smile worked its way over his lips. “Don’t be _stupid_ , Black. I actually stumbled across something Miss Granger may find useful.” He was graceful; she would give him that. Even the way he rounded the shop counter made her gape. “This way.” 

She shared a nervous look with Sirius and then with a shrug, followed after him, Sirius quick on her heels. In a dark corner of the cluttered shop, Nott stopped to poke amongst the shelves, pulling free a small wooden box with a snake carved into the top. He held it out for her and even though her insides were rioting, she plucked it from his grasp and gently lifted the top. 

It was, for all intents and purposes, a music box. Inside was a snake coiled in on itself, but when Theodore tapped his wand against the edge of the box, the snake rose and hissed along with a sad melody. 

“What the fuck is that?” Sirius snorted, earning a withering scowl from the older wizard. 

“It’s the Song of Slytherin; it can be translated loosely into English but the original was sung in Parseltongue. Nothing more than a knick-knack really but maybe something to sate this curiosity of yours.” 

Hermione swallowed and gently closed the lid. “Thank you. I think I’ll take it.” She began reaching into her bag for her coin purse but was halted with a wave of Nott’s hand. 

“Consider it a gift. I’ll take it up with Bourgin.” 

The feeling of his magic was subtle, far more so than Lucius’. If she hadn’t been so on edge in his presence she may not have felt it trickle over her hands and settle into the music box. She didn’t remark on it, didn’t so much as blink; she wanted the music box and even more so, she wanted to know what spell he’d just placed on it. 

“I appreciate it, Mr. Nott—” 

“Theodore is fine. And you’re welcome.” A smile bent his lips but didn’t touch his eyes. She turned as Sirius tugged on her elbow and led her from the shop.

xXx

Tucked under her quilt, curls piled messily on top of her head, and brow furrowed, Hermione pored over the stack of books she’d purchased—or rather, the books that Sirius had purchased on Walburger’s account simply to piss her off—from Obscurus Books. 

She’d been lucky enough to find a tome on Basilisk lore, as well as a few she thought pertained to their upcoming missions, and two she selfishly just wanted. 

Hogwarts term would conclude in the final week of June and the full moon fell on the twenty-eighth. Remus would be home the day after so they had little more than two months before the great Basilisk break in, and Hermione was anxious to siphon as much knowledge about the Chamber of Secrets and the monster within in the meantime. 

Putting their success on the crowing of a cockerel seemed risky at best but short of actually battling the giant beast, she was left with few options. 

A knock on the door pulled her from her scowling, and when James’ curly mop peeked through, eyes sleepy and smile crooked, her mood brightened instantly. Scooting up in her spot, she gently closed the book she’d been reading as he kicked off his shoes and laid down on top of her. They remained silent for a moment as she played with his hair, his cheek resting against her breast bone. With each breath, his head rose and fell in time with her chest, and she swore she could almost feel him purring as he settled in deeper. 

“How was your day, my love?” He moved his head and placed a kiss between her breasts, then higher just under the hollow of her clavicle. 

“Interesting,” she said around a slow smile, her knees parting to allow him to sink between her thighs. His tongue darted out to taste the sensitive skin under her jaw just as his wide hand curled around her ribcage, thumb brushing her breast. “How was yours?”

“Twelve hours of Auror Duty with the lovely Alastor Moody? Brilliant. Highlight of my week, really.” His lips hovered over her skin as he spoke, and with each word his full lips just barely brushed against her. It was the smallest of touches, barely noticeable, really, but her skin responded with a fevered blush and her back arched in a useless attempt to be closer to him. “What were you reading before I barged in?”

His simple question brought reality crashing back in around them, and she huffed out a harsh breath before settling back against the mattress. “Something annoying.” 

A throaty chuckle slipped from his lips as he pulled back, hands on either side of her torso so he could look at her properly. “What is it with books constantly offending you so?”

“It’s not the books; it’s the content. We only have a handful of weeks until Hogwarts, and I’m terrified that our only plan isn’t enough. If we’re caught with a dead rooster or one that won’t crow, we’ll be forced to fight the thing blind.”

James' lips pulled to the side, his eyes narrowing as the gears in his mind worked silently. An idea washed over his features, a grin forming as he jumped off the bed and tugged her alongside. 

“What are you—James, where are we going? It’s the middle of the night” But they were already padding down the stairs, hands locked. 

“We just need to practice.” 

An unexpected laugh bubbled free from her chest. “Oh? Do you have a well meaning Basilisk lying around for us to work with?”

They stopped only when they were on the sprawling lawn of Longbottom Hall, Hermione’s bare feet sinking in the plush grass. Overhead an endless sky peppered with stars and a nearly full moon hung over them, and she stared up at it in awe as James muttered a spell and came up behind her. A moment later, her sight was gone, cool silk falling over her eyes as she gasped, fingers flying up to linger over his. 

When the thin strap of fabric was secured around the back of her skull, she righted her head, hyper aware of the close proximity of her boyfriend. Resting his hands on her hips, his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. “All you have to do is find me.” 

One palm travelled up to her breast, and squeezed gently. Then without notice his touch was gone, and she could hear his boots rustle against the thick grass behind her. Instinctually, her hands rose to feel around the empty space, brows furrowing as she took a tentative step forward. 

“This is ridiculous,” she hissed into the void. 

“Is it?” His voice was suddenly to the left, and she reeled towards the noise, hands wildly searching. “If you move like that, you will be the first dead, and it’ll totally ruin the heist. I’ll be sour the rest of the evening.” 

Dropping her hands lamely to the side, she stood tall and canted her head to the side. “You are such a prat! I don’t have much experience with this you know, nor much warning.” 

The air moved around her, the sound of his steps shooting past her, and she reeled, allowing the quiet to settle around her as she listened for another clue. Then, it was just _there_ , and before she could turn, he was pressed up against her backside, lips on her neck and hand winding around her waist. 

“Got you,” he said, his grin evident in the tone of his voice. “Now you're dead, and I’m in a foul mood.” 

She gasped as his hand slid lower, curling around her mound and rocking the heel of his palm against her sex. The sensation was heightened by her loss of vision and her head fell back against his chest, offering more of her neck to him which he greedly took full advantage of. His free hand slid up her side, skimming her breast only to wrap gently around her throat, his thumb tilting her jaw as he bruised her delicate flesh with his mouth. 

_“James_.” His name was a whimper as she bucked her hips against his palm. 

“Do better this time, love.” And again he was gone, her knees quaking from the loss of his expert touch. 

A small, unintimidating growl pushed from deep in her chest, and this time she moved with purpose. She hadn’t had all the rules before, hadn’t known his game, but now that she did, she was intent on winning. He laughed quietly as he moved in wide circles around her, his fingers pinching her bum just once as he brushed past her. 

Stomping her foot petulantly, she stopped, filling her lungs with long deliberate breaths. All she needed to do was wait; he was too impatient to stay away for long but the more she moved, the less she noticed about his whereabouts. She counted heartbeats while she waited. 

He was close; she could _feel_ it. She just had to wait for him to strike, and she knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold off for long. Then, he moved and she trusted her body to react, spinning quickly on her heel as her hand darted out and wrapped around his wrist, tugging him against her. 

“Got you,” she said, breathless. 

He hummed. “It seems you did.” 

Biting down on her lip, she reached for him, hand curling around the bulge in his jeans. “What do I get for winning?”

“Wicked witch.” Before she could respond, she was tossed over his broad shoulder, his arm locked around the back of her knees as he stomped towards the house. She couldn’t hold back her giggling, swatting at his bum as they entered the kitchen. 

“James,” a familiar voice drawled, and Hermione’s head snapped up, blindfold still secured over her eyes. 

James continued moving, and she could feel him nod against her thigh, dipping his chin once. “Evening, Frank.” 

“ _Frank?!”_

But they were already halfway up the stairs so Hermione focused her attention on not being thrown from the man’s back. She could tell when they entered her room and was promptly deposited on top of the duvet. Floundering she made to rip at the blindfold but his strong hands gripped her wrist then swiftly found the other and positioned them over her head, wrists brushing the iron bar of her headboard. 

“James, what are you—” 

_“Incarcerous.”_ Both wrists locked into place, and she thrashed about, growling and trying to manoeuvre herself free. 

“James Potter, let me go this instant.” 

She could hear him chuckle but her attention was caught on the feeling of his fingertip dragging along the underside of her arm, brushing the sensitive skin of the inside of her elbow. Whimpering, she fought the sticking charm again. 

James bent over, his tone now serious. “Do you feel safe?” After an indignant huff, she nodded. “Do you want me to let you go?” 

She considered it, testing the hold of her wrists. It surprised her but she managed a breathy, “No.” 

“If you want to stop, tell me. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Then his lips pressed to hers, insistent and firm, trapping her bottom lip and sucking gently as his hand slid down the center of her body and curled around her covered sex. His tongue slid between her lips, mimicking the ministrations she was so desperate for between her legs, but his hand remained still, just enough pressure to drive her mad. 

When their lips parted she sucked in greedy breaths, still fighting the her restraints. He chuckled, his hand sliding under the top of her shorts and beneath her knickers. His touch stoked an ever-present flame deep in her belly, and she bit back a moan when he pressed his fingers inside her.

The hand not buried inside her yanked at the hem of her shirt, exposing her breasts to the air, and moments later his warm lips closed around her nipple. She arched into his touch, whimpered pleas for _more_ tumbling into existence. 

Too soon his touch was gone and without her sight she could hear the slow drag of his zipper and the ruffle of cotton as it fell softly to the floor. The bed dipped and she squirmed in anticipation, letting out a quiet cry when his mouth closed over her sex, tongue pressing inside her. He hitched her knees over his shoulders, devouring every inch of her until her orgasm crashed into her, pleasure coursing through her veins.

She choked on her own breath as the euphoria waned while James moved over her, the tip of his cock nudging her entrance. His hands wandered over her breasts, groping and massaging, rolling one of her nipples with his fingers as his tongue laved the other. 

Her knees caught on his hips, and with her heels she nudged him deeper. “Please, James. I can’t—” 

Without another word, he filled her with a single thrust. She moaned and his mouth quickly slanted overs as he began fucking her, rolling his hips with practiced expertise. The loss of control did wonderous things; each caress, each time he dug his fingers in her soft flesh felt like the first time. Her skin buzzed with the sensation, desperate for more. 

She could feel him shift off her and back onto his haunches. Gripping her by the hips, he lifted her off the bed and held her weight as he drove into her with new vigour. “Gods, you’re so perfect,” he bit out. 

Once again, she tumbled over the edge, a second orgasm rocking through her system as he mumbled a few expletives and then stilled, spending himself inside her. 

“ _Finite_ ,” he said breathlessly, and her hands fell lamely up around her wild mane. He pushed the fabric from her eyes, and she blinked in the darkness of the room. Before long he was on top of her again, covering her face in gentle kisses as he stroked the curls around her face. “I love you.” 

She keened, exploring the ridges of taut muscle on his back with her fingertips as her body hummed with post-coital bliss. “I love you, too.” 

Hermione’s cheek pressed to his chest and before long they fell asleep, tangled, twined, and naked. 

xXx

The following morning, Hermione woke to the gentle snoring of her bedmate. His face was buried in her curls, arms locked tight around her waist. As she shifted from his hold, stretching the sleep from her spine, James shifted and yawned. 

“Morning, love.” 

She hummed, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Morning.” 

Peeking one eye open as his arms stretched clear over his head, a sleepy smile curled his lips. “What do you have on the docket for today? I don’t have work if you want to spend the day together.” 

“I’d like that.” She smiled widely, scooting back into his embrace. “I need to spend some time in the greenhouse and the full moon is just a few days away so I’ll be foraging for Aconite then.” 

“Ah, greenhouse work. How titillating. I love spending my time with you doing manual labour.” The words came out in a bored drawl, and she swatted playfully at him, fighting a smile. 

“The faster I get it done, the sooner it’ll be over, and then you can choose the afternoon activity, hmm?”

With more grace and speed than she possessed in her whole body, James rolled them, his knee pressing between her thighs as he hovered over her. “Now, this I like. I’ll have all morning to get creative.” He dipped his head between the crook of her shoulder and neck, rubbing his coarse stubble against her sensitive skin until she was squealing with laughter. 

When he stopped, replacing his annoyance with gentle kisses, she keened. Her head fell to the side, allowing him better access. Her attention caught on the edge of her night stand where the box she’d procured from Theodore Nott was sitting. She noticeably stilled, enough so that James halted his kisses and pulled back. 

“I forgot… there is something I have to tell you.” 

The skin around his eyes tightened, and he rolled to the side, hand curled around her hip. “I don’t think I like the sound of that… Please tell me it doesn’t have anything to do with what you and Sirius were doing yesterday.” 

She grimaced, baring her teeth in an uncomfortable smile. “Wish I could.” 

**xXx**

**A/N: Frumpologist made me the most beautiful graphic months and months ago when I was planning this chapter!** **  
****  
****A few things, as always, thank you endlessly for reading, following and supporting. Every hit, review, comment, rec means the world to me.**

**Thanks as always to Ravenslight, Farmulousa, and NuclearNik for the BritishAlphabet eyes on this piece! They are as invaluable and deserve all the tacos.**

**Finally, and this is a big one, due to some unexpected health reasons, I’ve decided to split this fic into two parts. It’s always been something I’ve considered but ultimately decided against. However, the last thing I want to do is put this on hiatus! So this seems the best way to close up the first year of this fic and it will pick up as they enter the final year of the war in Part 2. I’m currently writing chapter 42 and I think around 44/45 will be the natural breaking point to split the fic. It won’t be left on a cliff hanger and I promise you will have answers!**

**I’m hoping the worst of my health will pass in a few months and I’ll be able to focus on finishing this bad boy up!**

**Thank you so much for everything!**

**LK**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	31. Chapter 31

Longbottom Hall

April 1980

“I’m sorry—you two did  _ what?” _ James’ eyes were pinched closed, the bridge of his nose held between his thumb and forefinger. 

“I knew you were going to overact.” 

_ “Overreact? _ Hermione, you can’t just go wandering around Knockturn with Sirius-bleeding-Black! You say you want to keep a low profile yet you are constantly putting yourself in the way of Death Eaters!” He was off the bed and hopping into his jeans a moment later. Forsaking his pants, he turned with the button still open, and Hermione’s eyes widened fractionally at the way they slung low on his hip and the trim hair on display. “Hello? Are you paying attention to me?”

Blinking several times, Hermione’s attention snapped up to his face, and she really did try her best to ignore how roguishly handsome he looked when he was upset. “Yes, of course. But James, it’s not like I went to a Death Eater revel. I went to the bookstore and to—” 

“Borgin and bloody Burkes! Do you know we’ve been tracking the magical activity across London? The staggering amount of dark arts being performed there is enough to make Moody want to raid its stores within the fortnight.” 

Hermione gave him a withering look. “Obviously, no, I didn’t know that. How could I?”

“ _ Because I know it! _ And if you or Padfoot had thought  _ at all _ instead of sneaking off when you knew damn well I would be unavailable—” 

Fury pushed through her veins and she, too, hopped from the bed, reaching for her nightclothes and yanking them on. “I didn’t  _ sneak _ anywhere, nor do I have to. I can go dancing in the streets in Knockturn Alley if I so see fit and you don’t get a say in it.” 

His brows inched towards his hairline. “Is that so?” 

“Listen, James. This is the eighties, not the bleeding 1800s; I’m not your little witch who needs someone’s permission to do something if  _ I want to!” _

“It’s not permission, Hermione! It’s communication and respect. I’m an Auror, I have more information than you do about certain things. You always say I have to trust you with this Horcrux hunt. You get all this knowledge that you haven’t obliged to share with anyone, and I have to skip along happily with little to no information. Can’t you at least do the same for me? Can you care enough about me to let me know if you’re doing something reckless?”

Hermione flinched. He was right. 

“What if something had happened to you both?” His voice broke, and when she met his gaze again, the rage that had been vibrating through him had lessened. “I wouldn’t have known where you were; I could have lost you.” 

The vulnerability in his confession crashed over her and whatever indignation she’d felt moments before vanished. Her hands cradled the sides of his stubbled jaw, and he turned fractionally to press a kiss to her palm. 

“I can’t  _ believe _ I’m about to say this… but you’re right. I should have told you if only so that we had a back up plan if things went wrong.” 

His brows pitched together, his lips twitching in a small smile. “ _ I _ was right?”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and then lifted onto her tiptoes to place a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You were— _ this time.  _ Please don’t think it will be a repeat occurrence. I need you to stop thinking I’m made of glass. I’ve been through a war already; I’m not helpless.” 

“Okay…” he allowed. “But I’m allowed to worry about you and not want you dead or kidnapped by some Death Eater scum.”

“I think that’s a fair compromise.” Her hands fell away from his cheeks, and she locked her hands behind his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Thankfully his glacial mood melted and his arms bound around her in a deep hug, guiding her backward until her knees hit the mattress and he fell over her. 

They ignored the music box as the night bled into morning, and they found themselves tangled in sheets and limbs again. 

xXx

Two days and many revealing charms later, Hermione found herself at a table with Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, James Potter, and a handful of Aurors. Gathered at the head of the table were Kingsley, Frank, and Alastor, and each one wore matching gaunt expressions. 

“Who was able to figure out what the spell was?” Frank asked, rubbing a palm down his trim beard and staring at the music box in the center of the table. 

“Me, sir,” Peter offered, lifting two fingers in the air though his expression was far from proud. “I’m surprised Hermione could feel it because it was pretty hard to decipher.” 

Kinglsey groaned, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. “And it’s a tracking spell?” 

“It is. Worked  _ into _ the wood itself; I’m not sure how we lift it.” 

“And you didn’t  _ think _ ,” Alastor jumped in, his voice acidic and tight, “that accepting a gift from Theodore Nott might not be the smartest idea?  _ Ten outstandings my arse.” _ He mumbled the last bit, and Hermione’s lip curled. 

Hermione wanted very much to interject and say  _ why _ she needed the music box but the Great Rooster Raid of Hogwarts was still underwraps. There was little chance of them being allowed to complete the mission if they said what they were up to so she had to feign ignorance, as if she simply wanted a pretty jewelry box from a known practitioner of the Dark Arts. 

After dragging her tongue along her teeth, Hermione said, “As I’ve already stated— _ several times— _ I went in search of clues about the remaining Horcruxes. Mr. Nott was there and was insistent I take it.” 

“Which should have been a fucking clue!” Moody shouted, slamming his hand onto the table and earning a sharp look from every other person at the table. James shifted quickly forward but Hermine’s palm on his knee stayed him. “If the man was trying to get you to take it, he clearly had an ulterior motive.” 

Magic sparked at her fingertips, and she curled her hands into a fist to keep it from lashing out. “You’re right,  _ sir _ .” The words tasted like stink sap, and she abhorred swallowing back the vitriol she was feeling.

“Our Aurors will be working on double-checking our wards here,” Kinglsey said, taking over for Moody who looked on the verge of exploding from rage. “This estate is unplottable but that tracking charm is no joke. It’s a good sign that we haven’t had any attempted breaches thus far. You four,” he paused to point a finger at Hermione and the boys, “are responsible for getting that blasted thing off property and far from this house, well populated areas, or safe houses. If they come to collect on their tracking spell, I want it to land them in the middle of fucking nowhere. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison. Hermione hated feeling whipped. She wasn’t used to being the one causing the trouble, merely the one reigning it in. 

Frank gave them all a disapproving look and then jerked his chin towards the door. “Go on.” 

The four of them stood and made for the door but Hermione couldn’t banish the shame burning from her cheeks as they retreated. 

“Ehem,” Moody barked, and behind her she heard the scraping of chair legs against wood and approaching feet. “You forgot your _ gift, _ Miss Granger.” 

Tension settled in the muscle of her shoulders and she turned, jaw wired shut. In his large, tattooed hands was the innocuous-looking music box, and she plucked it from his grasp. Meeting his narrowed gaze once, she nodded. “Thank you.” 

When they were safely on the other side of the door Sirius said, “Merlin, I hate that fucking twat.” 

_ “I can hear you!” _ Moody’s voice reverberated through the door, and they all jumped. 

Sirius summoned his jacket and shrugged it on. “Marley’s working, let’s go. We can figure out what to do with that fucking thing.”

xXx

They arrived at the Leaky just as Marlene’s shift was ending, and she groaned as she plopped into the space next to Peter, her head falling onto his shoulder. “You lot are a sight for sore eyes. How was your meeting?”

“Lovely,” Sirius growled. “Got our arses handed to us.” 

“At least we got to keep the damn thing,” James added, draping his arm across the back of Hermione’s seat. “That’ll make our trip to Hogwarts a little easier.”

“Any news from Remus?” Marlene’s head lifted off of Peter’s shoulder as she reached for a chip in the centre of the table and dipped it in a pile of ketchup. 

Everyone looked at Peter, whose cheeks were stained pink and looking decidedly away from Marley with rounded eyes. “What? Um, no. Not since the last.” 

Sirius nudged the blond with his elbow. “What’s your problem?” 

“I don’t have a problem. I just haven’t heard from Remus.” 

“Well, I don’t like any of it.” Marlene huffed and tucked her legs under her. “It’s been weeks, and he can barely manage a few letters? I haven’t heard from Lils in five fucking months. What? The pair of them off on vacation or something?” 

Hermione’s brow pitched together in thought. It was of no surprise that Hermione hadn’t heard from Lily but Hermione had assumed that she’d had contact with Marley. In the few weeks they’d all been together they’d behaved more like sisters than friends. “ _ You _ haven’t heard from Lily at all? Isn’t that strange?” 

“Of course, it is! I’ve sent owls but they come back without a response. I’ve asked Moody about looking into it but he says he won’t; she’s not a missing person or anything since she left of her own accord. But I’m worried about her. The least she could do is respond to a bloody owl.” Marlene idly picked at the chips that were now going ignored by the rest of the table. 

It wouldn’t help any of them for Hermione to make her thoughts known but she couldn’t help the sinking feeling in her stomach. 

They stayed at the Leaky awhile, but too soon James pressed a kiss to her temple and rose. “Come on Padfoot, we’ve got a shift in London.” 

Sirius growled and finished his pint, removing himself from the bench as well before kissing— _ snogging _ —Marlene. Once again Hermione's attention strayed to Peter who was staring at the knotted wood table with great interest. 

“Merlin, pull your tongue out, Pads. We’ve got to go.” James tugged on his friend's jacket collar and winked at Hermione once. “I’ll be by to snog you later.” 

Rolling her eyes, she watched him go and then quickly made an excuse to leave Marlene and Peter as well and headed to the Owlery down the alley. 

It was a longshot that Lily would respond to her when she’d not seen fit to respond to her best friend but that didn’t stop Hermione from paying the postage anyway and sending an owl off in search of Lily Evans. 

xXx

The moon illuminated the forest as Hermione worked methodically through the trees. 

Aconite harvested at the height of the full moon yielded the strongest Wolfsbane, and when Remus returned in a few weeks time, she was insistent that he have a stash of potion vials available to him. It pained her to know that not only was he losing himself to the moon once a month, but with a new pack that might not care about keeping him out of trouble.

When it came to potion ingredients, whatever they couldn’t grow in the greenhouse was still provided by James; ingredients arrived via owl post once a month. But the moonlit harvested aconite was not the easiest to come by and the price was steep. 

So last month she’d taken to the woods with Alice, intent to forage what she could. This month, wanting to save Alice from the Apparition and hours on her feet in the middle of the night, she’d decided to go alone to a forest further north of Longbottom Hall. 

Aconite preferred streams and moist soil, so she trudged through the trees until she came across the stream where they had harvested the month prior. The only plants still there were too young, as they’d cleared out the area when they were last here. With a sigh, she continued north, keeping her eyes trained on the ground. In a small opening in the trees—flooded with the light of a moonbeam—was a small thatch of dense plants with purple hoods. 

Hermione grinned as she stalked forward, casting protective enchantments on her hands before stowing her wand and sinking to her knees. She pulled free a small linen cloth and a pair of shears and began slowly working on clipping the stems near the root. 

The area was cleared in a matter of minutes and it wasn’t strictly necessary that she continue on, but there was another clearing just up the way and it was still early. So she folded the cloth with the aconite and pushed to stand, following the stream up river. 

It didn’t take long for Hermione to stumble across another cluster of aconite and she harvested it as well before pushing on. Off to the right, further from the stream and nestled between the trees was another clearing. She couldn't see what was there but it made sense that the soil would still be damp enough to encourage growth, so she abandoned her place on the river and traveled inland. 

Each step of her boots on the underbrush of the forest suddenly felt too loud, the crunch of twigs and leaves somehow overwhelming as she stepped past a giant oak tree. She paused, slowing her breathing as she strained to see in the dim light of the moon and scoured the treeline. 

It was nothing, barely a flicker of a shadow, but Hermione’s instincts raged, adrenaline and fear racing through her veins as she pressed herself into the trunk of the tree. Her heart sped into a gallop and she waited, desperate for one more clue. 

Several crunches of the forest floor sounded not far from where she stood, and the air in her lungs was stolen as her hand shot up to cover her mouth. 

Maybe it was just a deer or other forest critter… but something about the way the sounds seemed to reverberate through the trees, widening while still circling, negated the thought. Slowly, she sank to her knees, one hand slipping into her satchel for her wand. 

The damned extension charm, which usually made her life simple, complicated matters as her fingers slipped by nonsensical items she’d decided to bring along. Vials clattered, and she hissed quietly as her fingertip brushed the vine carvings of her wand. 

Finally, she gripped her wand. Her lashes fluttered closed as she counted exactly three breaths, putting the lawns of Longbottom Hall firmly in her mind, but as she pulled her wand from her bag, a low growl rumbled through the air, causing her to falter as her wand dropped to the forest floor. 

The tension that she’d been attempting to hold at bay snapped, and she began frantically searching through the leaves and grass for her wand, no longer preoccupied with the noise she caused. Whatever was out there already knew she was there; now she just needed to get out. She found a stick of similar size and shape and growled as she threw it away from her. Thankfully, a moment later she found her wand, and relief flooded her system.

But another growl added, this one far more feral, and Hermione’s gaze shot up. Just on the far side of the clearing was a single wolf, large and irregularly shaped with thick strips of muscle visible from even where she stood. But it’s eyes—golden and sentient—were what made her vision double. 

Without tearing her gaze from the wolf, she tried to focus enough to Apparate but when the beast took a single step forward, its massive paw crunching into the earth, she lost her focus. Slowly, careful not to startle it, she lifted her wand and pointed the tip towards her shoulder blade and filled her mind with James’ image.    
  
“ _ Resurgmus.”  _

The phoenix on her shoulder burned, and she rose to stand, eyes trained on the massive animal. 

“ _ Incarcerous _ .” Thick rope shot out from the tip of her wand and wrapped securely around the wolf’s neck; it was unaffected, its teeth bared in a snarl as it took another single step forward. “Fuck.” 

_ “Stupefy!” _ Her aim missed and behind her she heard more crunching of leaves. She panicked and whipped her wand through the air. “ _ Bombarada!”  _ Her magic shot straight into the wolf’s chest, and he rocketed through the air, his body slamming into a thick tree with a sickening crunch. 

Hermione reeled, searching the darkness as two more eyes glowed in the shadows behind her. She couldn’t fight them off; they would make dinner of her long before she was able to incapacitate both of them. 

Her focus was frenzied but she forced the stream where she’d just been to the front of her mind; a short Apparition jump would be fine. The two wolves growled and snapped; faster than she thought possible, they shot forward, just as she turned on her heel and rocketed through the forest. 

She could feel her flesh separating from her body as she spun in on herself, her screams echoing in her ears as she slammed into the earth. The juxtaposition of her blackened senses paired with vibrant bursts of blinding light behind her lids made her feel sick, and a moment later bile spilled from her lips. Violent, response-induced tremors rocked through her body, and she choked on the air trying to climb its way from her throat.

She moved the parts of herself that she could, testing out her legs and then her arm—only one moved, and she let go of a single quiet sob. Tears coated her cheeks and she was grateful the pain was dull, her adrenaline likely protecting her mind from the injury. 

Clenching her eyes shut, she braced herself before looking down at where her arm should be, a sharp relieved breath shooting forward when she saw it was there. The flesh of her arm was torn open, blood spilling from the wound and gathering on the earth beneath her. 

Distantly she heard the sound of wandfire and shouts and while it should have relaxed her, guilt pushed through her system, drowning everything else. She’d called him here; she’d brought him to a werewolf fight with no warning, and she wasn’t even there. 

Broken sobs echoed in the air as she scrambled backward, clutching her mangled arm to her torso. She was losing too much blood; she could feel it leeching her consciousness as her limited vision darkened around the edges. 

_ Just have to hold on. James is coming. _

Her eyes fluttered closed, and a quiet rustling followed by a wet nose and the tickle of whiskers against her cheek chased her into the quiet fringe of unconsciousness. There was a shifting in the air next to her, and she felt a warm hand on her cheek. 

_ “Prongs! I’ve got her! _ Hold fast, Granger. You’re gonna be alright.”

xXx

**A/N: Hey all! Thank you so much for reading along! I am just getting stupid excited to share the following chapters with you all. Things moved slowly in the first part of the first war but when they started, they didn’t really let up!**

**I appreciate all of you who are reading this as a WIP and supporting me while I write. It means so much to me and every hit, review, kudo, favorite is coveted more than you know!**

**Thank you to my wonderful AlphaBets— Farmulousa, NuclearNik, and Ravenslight. You guys make my mangled mess so much better!**

**I have BDJ (Big Dick James) PWP that revealed today as part of The Marauders’ Guild summer fest, Marauders on Tour! It’s called The Importance of Silencing Charms and is currently on AO3.**

**Join us on FB if you’re interested in more Marauder shenanigans and check out the whole collection!**

**Have a great week, lovelies!**


	32. Chapter 32

Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

May 1980

Everything ached. 

Even in the darkness of her mind when absolutely nothing else made sense she’d been able to register the pain. After what felt like an eternity, the unending blackness receded. Hermione groaned as the return of her senses accosted her, then immediately winced at the dryness in her throat. 

“Hermione?” 

The noise was too much and she coughed, clenching her eyes shut at the friction. “Water?”

There was a crash and a clang followed by the sound of running water. The mattress dipped and a glass was deposited into her hands. She pushed up gently, wincing a bit at the tightness in her shoulder, and managed to peek an eye open. 

_ James. _

He looked like absolute shit but he was alive and here; nothing else mattered. Under his eyes were dark purple circles and the thickest beard she could remember covered his jaw and neck. Don’t even get her started on the wildness of his hair. “Ja—” 

“Shh, just drink.” His hand cradled her cheek, and his lips twitched in a sad smile. “You scared me, love.”

The water did little to soothe the soreness that had settled into her vocal cords, but she drank greedily anyway. When she felt bloated and about to burst she handed it back to him and fell back against the pillow. “What happened?”

His thick brows tugged together. “What’s the last thing you remember? Let’s start there.” 

Tendrils of memory wisped and floated past, but she couldn’t formulate a full thought. It had been dark; she’d been alone. Her belly churned. “Wolves.” 

_ “Were _ wolves, to be precise. They shouldn’t be this far south; Moody’s furious.”

“What do you mean?” she croaked, fingers curling around her throat.

“Packs have protected lands. Acres to run that are away from populated areas. It’s why we aren’t normally worried about werewolves in Magical society.” 

“But, Remus runs with—” 

His lips twitched in a smile, and he canted his head. “He’s a Marauder. Laws like that are more like guidelines for us. Besides, he has us. We keep him honest.” 

Sadly, she wondered who was looking out for him now. Without Wolfsbane and the rest of the Marauders, Hermione shuddered to think about the cloak of guilt he’d carry if his transformation ended in bloodshed.

“Moody and the lot look the other way,” James continued. “Just like they do about us being unregistered Animagi.” 

“Why am I here? How did you find me?”

James threaded his fingers with hers, and his features drew tight as he stared at their joined hands. “You summoned me and Sirius, and I came straight away. We Apparated in with two wolves prowling and got them down;. They were detained for breaking the Werewolf Code of Conduct and attempting to harm a non-werewolf.” 

Grimacing, Hermione scooted up to a seated position, hissing at the pain in her arm as she did. “Well, that’s not their fault. They didn’t know what they were doing.” 

“The fuck they didn’t.” James scoffed. “They were about a hundred kilometres too close; they knew they were breaking the law, and they would have either killed you or turned you and—” His words caught in his throat, his jaw trembling as he pulled their twined fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles. 

“I’m okay,” she reassured him, lifting her hand to his cheek. 

He turned to kiss her palm. “Barely. You splinched yourself trying to get away. Thank Godric you didn’t try to go far or you’d be in pieces all over London.” 

“That explains the searing pain in my arm.” 

James’ jaw set tightly, and he shook his head. “Yeah, well it was nearly torn off when Sirius found you. The subsequent Apparition to the hospital is what ripped off the rest of the way.” 

Her stomach churned, and she thought she might be sick. “My— My arm fell off?”

“That it did. Luckily, Sirius was with us during the Apparition and was able to keep…  _ your arm _ the rest of the way.” 

Bile inched up the back of her throat. “Sirius arrived  _ here _ — at St. Mungos— with my severed arm?” 

“Yes.” 

Suddenly his thick beard and exhausted expression made sense. “How long have I been here?” 

“You’ve been in a magically induced coma for just over a week. It took a while to…” He trailed off, blanching slightly. “Reattach it. They didn’t want to risk damaging it further but it should all be there now.” 

A disbelieving laugh bubbled forward, followed by another… and another. Moments later she was nearly doubled over, her once-missing arm hanging limply at her side.

“Something funny, love?”

Wiping tears from her cheeks, she shook her head and groaned. “Just the ridiculousness that is my life. Please tell me you haven’t been here the whole time.” James remained silent, and her eyes narrowed. “James Potter, you stayed here to what? Watch me sleep and my arm reattach?” 

“Hell no.” He shook his head. “I made them cover that mess whenever possible because it was fucking disgusting.” 

A smile threatened and she folded her lips into a tight line to hide it, swatting at him with her good arm. “So, what now?” 

His brows pitched and he let out a sharp exhale. “Now, you can go home. We’re looking into the Werewolf issue because it’s a problem if they are roaming that far from the protected lands. You’ll need to train and rehab your arm a bit.” Pausing, he squirmed and avoided looking at her. “And a new order has been placed by Moody.”

“Yes?”

“No women are allowed to forage, raid, or patrol alone.” 

Hermione blinked once. Twice.  _ “What the fuck did you just say?” _

xXx

James, while a patient and loving boyfriend, was an absolute terror when it came to getting Hermione up and moving again. Merlin, the man insisted they up her physical stamina for not only the trip to Hogwarts but for the war at large. Which was not only comical in and of itself but also horrifying. 

_ He _ looked chiselled from stone.  _ She _ could barely run in a straight line. 

James Potter was  _ also _ refusing to have sex with her. When they were training he pushed her like she was invincible, bringing her to the absolute brink of her physical capabilities and then some. When they were in bed, he treated her like she were made of glass, gentle touches and barely-there kisses. It was maddening. 

Today they were outside the Marauder House; all the boys, as well as Marley, were in attendance. May was reaching stifling temperatures and even in her shorts and tank top, a light sheen of sweat was forming at Hermione’s hairline. 

“Right!” James shouted, panting from their aggressive jaunt around the house— _ four time _ s. Twisting his wand in the air, a blindfold appeared in his palm and he tossed it at Sirius. “We’re just a few weeks from the Rooster Raid—” 

“Please stop calling it that,” Hermione implored but he just continued on. 

“Let’s take turns being blindfolded. Don’t get tapped; Sirius, you can fire sparks— are you listening to me?  _ Sparks.  _ Not stunners.” 

Sirius smirked and rolled his gaze over to his friend. “That was one time.” 

“That’s fucking nonsense and you know it,” Peter chimed in, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “You land a  _ Stupefy _ on me whenever you get a chance.” 

“That’s different.” 

Peter scoffed. “How so?”

“Because I find joy in stunning you. You twirl so prettily in the air.” Sirius reeled. “ _ Stupefy! _ ” 

His target was wholly unaffected, lifting a lazy shield charm in front of him and rolling his eyes. “You’re getting slow.” 

Something sparked in Sirius’ eyes. “That so, Petey?” Then, as if the day hadn’t been absurd enough, Sirius slowly began shifting, shaggy, black fur sprouting from his body as he sank to the earth.

“Bloody hell,” Peter groaned, wand at the ready and already retreating. “It’s not funny, Padfoot.  _ It’s not!”  _

James stepped forward, shouting, “Paddy! Come off it; we’re meant to be training!” 

Sirius barked, and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous scene playing out in front of her: Peter running and firing spells over his shoulder; Sirius barreling him down. It only took a few minutes until Peter was overcome, falling face-first in the dirt as the messy black dog stood proudly on his back. 

Marlene finally marched over and scolded Sirius, shooing him back and helping Peter from the ground. He was now covered in not only sweat but dirt, as well. Marlene started brushing it from his chest and arms. Hermione couldn’t make out what they were saying in the slightest, but she did see an awkward curl to Peter’s mouth.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Peter would ever find someone to call his. 

  
  


Her thoughts were interrupted by James screaming at his friends and organising them for training yet again. Shuffling behind him and staring at the sinful curve of her boyfriend’s arse, Hermione readied herself for the hours ahead. 

xXx

After two hours of training for the Basilisk, they all crashed where they stood, falling in the dirt with broken and beaten bodies. Hermione stretched the stiffness in her shoulder, rotating it fully. She’d come a long way in the two weeks since she’d left St. Mungos and felt like the appendage was nearing the same mobility it’d had before it had been torn from her person. 

“Arm still there?” Sirius called, his lips quirking from across the circle. “Because I’d really rather not have to carry your arm around with me again if possible.” 

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him and leaned back on her elbows. She felt disgusting, covered in sweat and baking in the sun. From her left, James nudged her with his trainer and jerked a chin in the direction of the house. 

“Let’s go shower.” 

Grumbling circulated through the group as James called dibs on the lone shower first. Sirius whined that they better not have sex in there because he needed a shower and  _ no _ , a Scourgify would not do. 

“Fuck off, Padfoot.” James was grinning though as he spoke and rose to his feet, holding out a hand for Hermione who took it and hoisted herself up. 

Once in the bathroom, they peeled their sticky clothing off, and James reached in to turn on the tap. The longer she went without a proper shag, the more lecherous she was becoming. She couldn’t stop  _ staring _ ; everything turned her on. But especially the hard strips of muscle on his back and the way they flexed when he moved. 

Hermione moved more purposefully with her undergarments, letting them fall slowly from her body and hoping he might get as aroused as she was. But, of course, he didn’t. He simply held the curtain for her and gave her a small, placating smile. 

Pouting, she stepped in and under the cool spray of the shower. Her curls turned instantly sodden and even though she was feeling a bit put out, she sagged in relief. Absently, she heard James enter as she poured shampoo into her palm. They did an awkward shuffle so she would be relocated to the back and he could stand under the water, and she began lathering her curls from the root. 

Merlin, it felt good. When she opened her eyes, hands still buried in the wet mess of hair she called hers, James’ eyes were wide and round, staring at her breasts on display. A smile twitched her lips as he shook his head and tried to resume his shower, now with a startling erection that he seemed intent to hide. 

A wicked thought crossed her mind and she reached for the sponge she kept there and covered it in soap, massaging it until bubbles were running over her hands. James’ back was to her but she could tell it was only with great concentration. 

“Can we switch?” 

His gaze shot over his shoulder, and she could see the muscles of his neck constricting as swallowed. “Sure.” Still, he didn’t turn, repeating the shuffle but this time with his back to her. She also didn’t quite do her part because she stayed close, letting her breasts drag across his back as she took her place in the water. 

A throaty chuckle rumbled from her boyfriend and he finally turned, shaking his head. “I know what you’re doing.” 

“Hmm? Just showering, love.” Hermione brought the sponge to her neck and squeezed, letting a slow trail of suds travel down the valley between her breasts. Despite his best efforts, James didn’t miss it either; his gaze seemed to follow a single bubble as it dipped into her belly button, and he groaned, backing up until his back was against the tile. 

Her gaze caught on his erection and where he was squeezing the base in a tight fist. “You’re going to be the death of me, Hermione Granger. You’re still healing; it’s not safe—or responsible! Aren’t you supposed to be responsible?” 

Wetness of an entirely different sort pooled between her thighs as he slowly stroked his cock. She sank her teeth into her lip and stepped out of the water, moving close enough so that her pebbled nipples were brushing against his chest as she peered up at him. “I’m not as fragile as you think I am, James.” 

Gently, she guided his hand away and took its place, her slender fingers wrapping around his length, causing his head to fall back and slap against the tile. 

“This is a bad idea, love. People are waiting for the shower, and you just barely have all four appendages. We—  _ ah… _ ” 

She ran a thumb over the opening on his tip and squeezed her fingers gently. “Touch me, James,” she said breathlessly, and his eyes snapped open, tracing the curve of her neck and the suds still covering her breasts. There was a war in his gaze but it ended as quickly as it began and both hands reached for her chest, slipping over her wet skin as he tested their weight. 

“Fuck.” 

Hermione gasped as he lightly pinched her nipples, taking another step into him so their bodies were pressed together. “Please, James. I miss you so much.” 

With a growl, his hands dropped to her hips and his mouth crashed into hers, nipping and biting at her lips as she coiled her arms around him. Their bodies slipped and slid as they moved, his hands finding purchase at the base of her skull and the thick of her bum. 

“Missed this fucking  _ arse _ ,” he bit out, fingers digging into her flesh before he plunged his tongue into her mouth. 

Her sex physically ached for him, a throbbing that she desperately needed tending to. She expected to be pushed up against the shower wall and shagged with abandon but he tore the curtain aside and pulled her out alongside him, backing her up until her bum was pressed again the cold porcelain of the sink and their feet were in the soft plush of the bath mat. 

In a quick movement, she was facing the sink with her fingers curled around the edges and bent at the hips. James nudged her stance wider with a knee to the inside of her soaked thigh and then slid between her folds in a single hard thrust. She cried out, pleasure rippling through every inch of her, and her walls tightened around him. 

“Shh, love. Sirius will have a fucking fit if he knows his shower is on hold for this.” She opened her eyes and found him staring at her in the reflection, a sinful smirk on his perfect mouth. “That’s it, love. Eyes on me.” 

In a succession of sharp thrusts, he drove into her, his jaw tightening as he fucked her senseless. Her knees trembled, and she bit back moan after moan while the edge of the sink cut into her hips. The walls of her sex fluttered, her nails trying in vain to sink into the hard surface she was holding onto, and she could hear James praise her as his hand left the juncture of her hips and slid between her thighs to flick her clit, bringing her crashing over the edge of her orgasm. 

“Fuck, your tits look good bouncing like that.” There was something too delicious about James Potter talking filthy to her, and she rocked back through her orgasm, arching her lower back to allow him deeper access. “Fuck, yes. Just like that, Hermione.” 

The hand between her thighs shot up to her breast, groping her as he shuddered and spent inside her, his head falling back as he choked on a breath. 

A moment later and they were giggling and sharing hushed kisses as they tiptoed back into the shower and finished cleaning up. Trapped under the spray and locked in each other’s embrace, they were reminded of their housemates only when Sirius banged his fist against the door and began shouting that he knew James to be unable to hold back from pleasing a woman for  _ this _ long and he ought to just fuck her in his own room and stop wasting water. 

Hermione couldn’t hold in her laughter as James massaged the remaining soap from her hair and kissed her jaw. “Padfoot can piss off. I’m tempted to give you another orgasm right now just to prove him wrong.” 

She smiled broadly and locked her hands behind his head. “Don’t let me stop you.” 

xXx

Sirius pouted and grumbled as James strode confidently from the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, and whistling a merry tune. He even went so far as to swat Sirius on the bum as he passed. “Shower’s all yours, mate.”

Despite being desperate for a shower, Sirius didn’t enter the bathroom. Instead, he stood at the threshold with a wrinkled nose and pointed his wand at the shower. “ _ Scourigfy.” _

Smirking at her boyfriend, Marlene stomped past him and ripped her shirt off before the door had closed, tossing it at Sirius’ head. “Come here to me, love. Let’s show them how it’s done.” 

Sirius was all too happy to oblige and the noises that began filtering from the bathroom were enough to make James place his own silencing charm. Poor Peter. 

Once in James’ room, Hermione tugged on a pair of denim shorts and one of his t-shirts while he pulled on a pair of sweats sans underwear or shirt. How on earth the man could make a single garment so maddeningly sexy was beyond her and as he moved back for the door, she resolved to shag him again later. Three weeks was a long time to make up for. 

“I’m starved; let’s eat.” 

Hermione’s stomach groaned in response, and she nodded, tying her hair up on the crown of her head as they made for the kitchen. Peter was devouring a sandwich with one hip resting against the counter, waiting patiently for the shower.

“Hi, Pete,” she said, hopping on the counter and dangling her legs. 

“Oh, good,” he managed around a mouthful of bread. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Me?” James said, pulling the fridge open. 

“No,  _ you,  _ Hermione.”

She blinked, surprised. “Me? Is everything okay?”

“Hopefully better than; it’s about work. You know I work archiving ledgers, yeah?” Hermione nodded. “I may have found something interesting—a vault under the Gaunt name. Which I know you said—” 

Hermione hopped off the counter, her interest now more than piqued. “Right, Tom Riddle’s family line.” 

“Well, only a Gaunt can enter, of course. You need either a key or the right magical signature. Anyway, I was working through the ledgers and  _ someone  _ entered last month and made a withdrawal.” 

Her heart slammed against her rib cage as she sucked in a shaky breath. “Could it be someone with the key?”

“No. There is a lockbox of keys from abandoned vaults. Vault No. 349 is in the possession of Gringotts, probably requisitioned after the last known descendant passed if You-Know-Who wasn’t in the magical world.” 

The sound of the fridge closing made Hermione jump and James rounded Peter with a curious set to brows. “So a Gaunt entered? What’s the big deal?”

Hermione swallowed. “There is only one living member of the Gaunt line: Tom Riddle Jr.” 

“Too right.” Peter grinned and set down his sandwich. “Here’s where it gets good—I looked at the other transactions and he did a withdrawal about two months ago, then a deposit a week later. Before then there had been not a soul in the vault for years.” 

“You think it’s a Horcrux?” she breathed, her mind unable to keep up. 

“I do, and I think he moved it again. That ring you found, what if he went looking for it and found it missing? That’s what you said about the locket and why we couldn’t move yet, right?”

Hermione waved her hand through the air. “Right, but being able to find a magical cave by the sea is more suspicious than someone stumbling across a jewellry box.” 

“Regardless,  _ if _ he found out, he’d start checking them, maybe even going so far as to move them to people he trusted. Right? It also means that he’s going to be taking Kreacher to the cave soon...” 

“Mate,” James interrupted, “What does this have to do with Gringotts?”

Peter’s eyes locked on Hermione’s. “The Gaunt vault was accessed again last week, a single withdrawal. The goblin made one other stop... the Lestrange family vault on a lower level.”

A gasp tore through her and she felt her blood run cold. “Are you saying—” 

“I’m saying that we need to either find a spare key or a spare Lestrange because I think your Horcrux is hiding in that vault.” 

xXx

**A/N: Another week, another update! I know some of yas are itching for action and I promise to deliver in the next 10 chapters before part 1 closes up.** **  
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** **I’m ever so grateful for you who are supporting me in all your various forms as I work on this. Every hit, review, kudo, covid-approved hug is coveted and cared for. So thank you!** **  
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** **As always, thanks to me BritAlphaBet: NuclearNik, Farmulousa, and Ravenslight. They are everything :D** **  
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** **Until next week, stay safe everyone! It’s a scary world out there and we can hide in fanfic for only so long, unfortunately.** **  
** **  
** **#BLMAlways**


	33. Chapter 33

June 1980

Marauder House

Sirius’ voice rang through the house like a bell, a suspicious lilt of unbridled joy laced between his words. “Oh, _ Marauders! _ ”

James’ lips stilled on hers. He pulled back, brow furrowing at the intrusion. Rolling her eyes, she gently guided him off her and fussed with her shirt. “We can snog later. Go on!” 

“We  _ will _ snog later.” He bent down, sucking her bottom lip gently before nipping it and turning for the door. He’d not made it one step into the corridor when he stopped dead in his tracks, jaw gaping. 

Curiosity won over and she climbed from his bed and into the hall, colliding with his broad back as she stared at Sirius Black grinning near the front door… with a rooster lofted over his head. The poor animal was squirming and looked very much like it was going to peck its handler’s eyes out. 

The floorboards creaked behind her, and a few moments later Peter was at her side. “What the fuck?” 

“Look what I got you, Kitten!” Sirius crooned, stomping in their direction. Once in front of them, he thrust the bird into Hermione’s arms, who flailed, crying out and quite nearly dropping the poor thing as she backed up to hide behind Peter.  _ “Oi! _ Don’t do that to Richard.” 

James snorted. “Richard?”

After dragging a hand through his unruly hair, Sirius bent down to lift the animal once again in his arms. “We are going to take him on a proper Marauder adventure; he needs a proper name.”

Wrinkling her nose, Hermione scoffed and said, “And  _ Richard _ is what you came up with?”

Sirius offered her a withering look. “ _ Yes _ , Richard. He’s a cock, after all.” With a long groan, Hermione buried her face in her hands. “And you, Kitten, I thought you’d be happy.” 

Chuckling to himself, James stepped carefully around Sirius. “You’re barmy. We aren’t going for a week; what the fuck are we going to do with a rooster for a week?”

“You’re so thick, Prongs.” Sirius stomped over to his friend and deposited the bird in his lap. Richard puffed up, and if possible, scowled before jumping to the ground. “We need the thing to trust us if we’re to smuggle it into Hogwarts.” 

Hermione and Peter finally exited the corridor and made a wide circle around the rooster who was now exploring the room. “You’re already too attached to it,” Peter said, his face dripping with disdain. “What if it dies?”

Indignation flared to life in her belly, and Hermione gasped. “He’s not going to die!” 

James made an apologetic face and shrugged. “Sorry, love. I know your book says roosters rule the roost and all but Basilisk vs. rooster? My galleons are on the giant, ancient snake.” 

“I don’t like the thing.” Peter squirmed, eyes never leaving Richard. 

“That’s because you’re a rat,” Sirius said with a wide, cheesy grin. “And you’re probably afraid he’ll peck you to death.” 

“You’re so fucking—” 

“Stop it!” Hermione growled and stomped her foot. If there were ever more than two of these twits together at any given point, it turned into complete and utter mayhem. “Listen, I’ll look after the rooster—” 

“Richard.” 

Eyes fluttering closed, a slow, frustrated breath pushed through her nostrils. “Yes. Richard.” 

“I don’t like it,” Peter repeated, his mouth settling into a firm line as he pressed himself against the door. “I don’t like it at all. Take it to headquarters.” 

James laughed. “Oh? And what will we tell them is our reasoning for having it? Hermione just decided to adopt a familiar and that familiar is a rooster?”

“Richard.”

The lot of them groaned just as Richard hopped up onto the end table and let out an ear-shattering crow. They responded immediately, slamming their hands over their ears. 

They had a way to get into the Chamber. They had trained for the worst. They had a rooster. 

They were going to break into Hogwarts. 

xXx

Over the following week, Hermione spent a great deal of time at the Marauder’s house, even when James was absent. She found that as Alice began nesting around the Hall, she felt more comfortable here. Marley had made her move-in official a few months prior and while Hermione knew she and James weren’t quite  _ there _ , she knew this was more home than anywhere else. 

And also Richard was there. 

Hermione studied him closely, watching his movements throughout the day. He liked to crow from the bannister of the porch and whenever Peter was near. But there was nothing else that seemed to have any rhyme or reason to when he decided it was best to crow. 

Sitting on the back steps, her journal open in her lap, she idly noticed the sound of the backdoor opening. James was falling onto the step next to her a moment later and when she turned to greet him, a sharp gasp ripped through her. 

“Don’t be angry” 

“James Potter… your face.” A large gash marred his forehead, streaks of dried blood caking his cheek. Without another word, she began frantically digging through her enchanted bag, fingers slipping by various vials and knick-knacks. Growling, she retrieved her wand from where she’d laid it on the porch and pointed at the centre of the wound.  _ “Accio  _ Dittany _.”  _

He winced as she applied a few drops and the wound magically knit back together, closing with only a light pink scar as proof of its existence. “Thanks, love.” 

Folding her lips together, she eyed him curiously for a moment before casting a  _ Tergeo _ to clear away the blood on his cheek. “What happened?”

“It was Sirius’ fault.” 

She snorted. “I never would have guessed.” 

“Frank actually asked that I talk to you about something. We’ve been tracking locations with dense magical traces and there is a spot that the twins are really preoccupied with in Scotland.” 

“Oh, I think they mentioned a fortress?”

“Yes, Buchanan Castle. Muggles abandoned it decades ago but there is activity. The magic there isn’t overwhelming but Fabian is willing to stake his life that something is happening there.”

“Alright… so how does that get you a bloody forehead and what does it have to do with me?”

He smirked and nudged her with his elbow. “We were scouting up there: Frank, Moody, Sirius, and me. Ran into a ward and Sirius shot a small spark at it just to test its strength. Damn thing rebounded and caught me in the jaw, and when I fell I cut it open on a rock.” 

“Merlin! Are you okay? You could have a concussion. Why on earth would Sirius—” 

“I’m okay, love. Promise. A bit of a headache but they ran diagnostics in the field and I’m fine. They could have stitched me up out there but we were anxious to get back; plus, I don’t trust their shoddy wand work not to leave a scar on my beautiful face.” James wagged his brow, biting into his lower lip as she rolled his eyes. 

“Go on with your story before I hex you.” 

“We need to know what you know about Buchanan Castle, if anything.”

Hermione shrugged, her lips twisting in disappointment. “The twins asked me as well a few weeks back, and I’ve scoured the notebook but there’s nothing. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.” 

Sucking on his teeth, James nodded, his eyes wandering to Richard roaming in the yard. “Well, I think they’re gathering a team. The wards are strong, and when we take them down we’ll have limited time to check the property.” 

Her ears perked up and she sat tall, gears in her brain churning at his words. “Is it for the Auror department?”

“No,” he said slowly, lips twitching in a smile. “They’d never be able to get clearance for this; it’ll be an Order mission.” 

“I’m going. Don’t give me that look; there could be a Horcrux there.” 

With a long sigh, James rested back on his palms and shook his head. “I’d be stupid to try and keep you from the mission. You’ll need a new partner though.” 

“I have Marley.” 

“Ah, ah, ah.” A single brow inched higher. “Thanks to your little stunt with the werewolves, witches are no longer permitted—” 

“Argh! Don’t bloody remind me. I’m still going to have words with Moody about that ridiculous rule. He’s a sexist, overbearing—” 

She quieted only when his hand curled around the back of her neck and his lips pillowed against hers. His mouth moved firmly and insistently against hers, stealing the breath from her lungs as she melted into him. When their lips parted, he smirked, resting his forehead against hers as she continued as though the kiss had never happened at all. 

“-- And if he thinks for one minute that he can keep  _ me _ from doing anything I damn well please, well he’s got another thing coming.” 

A laugh rumbled past his lips and he shook his head. “You’re tenacious, love. I’ll give you that.” 

“I’m pissed the hell off, is what I am.” 

xXx

The greenhouse was stifling; the sun beating down on the glass walls causing the humidity to skyrocket. It did  _ lovely _ things to Hermione’s hair, which James kept batting away from his cheek as he stood at her side. 

Before them was a row of adolescent potted Mandrakes that had cost her poor boyfriend a small fortune. She’d planned to brew Mandrake Restorative Draught herself and even begun growing her very own Mandrake plant. But when it was time to re-pot the poor thing, realisation had crashed over her. 

Mandrake root was required for the potion; the root was a sentient being.

She’d wretched on the dirt floor as she grappled with the horrifying visual of Professor Sprout carving off pieces of magical beings in order to wake Hermione from her Petrification. 

After the utter disgust was seething indignation. So she’d dragged James to the Apothecary, screamed at the poor shop owner who definitely didn’t deserve it and then purchased two vials of Mandrake Restorative Draught and every Mandrake in his shop. The total had been abhorrent but she fished out her coin purse anyway. 

James waved the shop owner off and said to charge his Gringotts Vault along with the other monthly supply of potion ingredients. “What kind of boyfriend doesn’t help their hysterical girlfriend adopt half a dozen teenage Mandrakes?” he’d said as he held three pots in his arms and kicked the door open.

Merlin, she loved the sod. 

The sad truth was that they desperately need Restorative Draught if something were to go awry in the Chamber of Secrets. And that meant that somewhere a Mandrake had to die for the cause. It unsettled her, guilt laying over her like a thick shroud, and as recompense, she’d saved a total of six Mandrakes. 

She’d absolutely no idea what to do with them but they were alive and safely in the greenhouse for now. 

“So, we are the proud parents of six Mandrakes, the cries of which kill us. I gotta say, love, this isn’t exactly how I imagined our foray into parenting going.” 

Her lips twitched in a half smile but she didn’t turn to him. “You talk an awful lot about this supposed future of ours, Potter. I’m starting to think you might like me or something.” 

James moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her torso. He promptly sputtered and shook his head away from her hair. “Yeah, or something is right.” 

“Restorative Draught isn’t going to be enough,” she lamented, hands closing over where his rested on her belly. “We need Phoenix Tears and I’ve absolutely no idea how to get them.” 

“You’d have to go black market for that, love.” 

“Well, maybe we have to go to the black market, then. If someone is hurt in the Chamber, they’ll die. We need as many back-ups as we can get.” 

“Right,” he snorted. “How do you think these poachers are acquiring Phoenix Tears, love? They’ve got that poor bird chained up right now. And before you even think it, we can _ not  _ adopt a Phoenix. I love your bleeding heart but we will soon have a menagerie of strange beings.” 

“Well, that’s not a half-bad idea actually…” she mumbled.

James only chuckled and closed his arms tighter around her. “We are going to be okay. Richard will crow, and we’ll be home by supper. Then someday, when the war is over, we’ll fill Potter Cottage with every sad magical creature you can think of.” 

It was strange to think that by this point in his life, James would have already been a husband. They still felt so young. But with war breathing down her neck she could see how one could get caught up in the finality of it all and rush into something so ridiculous, so utterly reckless, as a young marriage. 

With a long sigh, she pulled herself from his embrace and kissed him quickly. “We should go before my hair gets bigger.” 

A crooked smile pulled at his lips. “You’re right. I’m starting to feel your mane is sentient and might suffocate me.” 

“If you don’t watch it, it might.” With a gentle tug, she pulled him from the greenhouse, leaving their new little Mandrakes behind.

xXx

The following week passed quickly, and each day was spent meticulously planning their mission. The Marauders and Marley still worked, their shifts overlapping and leaving Hermione much to her own devices as she considered the days ahead. 

Remus was expected to return later in the afternoon and to no one’s surprise, the boys were planning an evening of debauchery to celebrate. In two days they would be heading to Hogwarts. Her charmed bag was ready, organized, and stocked, and there was little to do now but wait. 

She spent the afternoon filling vials with memories, some fond ones but mostly ones that might yet prove useful in the war. Every conversation she could recall surrounding the discovery and destruction of the Horcruxes. Vial after vial of memories filled the small box, and when she’d exhausted herself, she tucked them safely in her drawer. 

As she pressed it closed, her eyes caught on a corner of parchment sticking out from under her bed. Her brows furrowed as she bent down to retrieve a small envelope, sealed with a dot of red wax. On the front,  _ Hermione _ was written in neat script and for reasons she couldn’t understand, her stomach twisted. 

Slowly, she sank to sit on the edge of her bed, dragging her wand under the seam and lifting the wax. Her heart sank. 

_ Hermione,  _

_ I’m sorry I haven’t reached out. I hope you, Marley, and the boys are staying out of trouble. _

_ Please tell everyone that I’m okay and settling into my new life.  _

_ All is well.  _

_ Lily _

No sooner than she had read the final signature than she was on her feet and bounding down the stairs. Frantically searching each room until she found Alice and Frank tucked away in the sitting room. 

“Hermione?” Frank sat tall, worry etched into his features. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve just found this in my room.” She lifted the parchment for inspection. “Do you know when it came?”

“Oh,” Alice said, huffing as she tried to stand. “It arrived while you were at the hospital, and I put it on your nightstand. Are you just now receiving it?”

Her mouth ran dry; it’d been a month. “It’s from Lily.” 

The dismay melted from Alice’s face, and she smiled kindly. “Oh! That’s lovely. How is she?”

It was then that Hermione realized she was manic for absolutely no reason. Nothing had happened; Lily was okay. But that did absolutely nothing for the ill feeling swirling in her gut as she once again stared at the letters arranged on the parchment. 

“She’s well. I just—I can’t get the thought out of my mind that something is wrong.” 

Alice clucked her tongue and waddled to her side, bending awkwardly to hug Hermione despite her enormous belly. “I feel that way too, lately. Everything is going to be alright… You’ll see.” 

As much as Hermione wanted to believe her, she couldn’t. 

xXx

The Marauder house was thrumming with music and excitement. Remus had yet to make his appearance but they had not held off on celebrating the return of the fourth Marauder. 

As soon as Hermione crossed the threshold, she sought out Marley, barely stopping by where James stood to brush a kiss against his stubbled cheek and then pressing on. She found her friend near the back, wrapped in Sirius’ embrace and laughing into his chest. 

“Marley, can I steal you away a moment?” 

Sirius held tighter, his brows furrowing in a playful glare. “No, she’s mine.” 

“It’s important.” 

The weight of those two words sobered them, and Sirius’ arms dropped away as Marlene turned. “What is it, Hermione?”

“That day I was attacked by the werewolves, I sent an owl to find Lily. I know you all have tried but I couldn’t help shake this feeling that something is wrong.” 

“Wrong?” Marlene’s features crumbled and her hands shot out to wrap around Hermione’s elbows. “Hermione, what’s happened.” 

Shaking her head, Hermione swallowed the tension tightening her vocal cords. “I don’t know… Maybe nothing.” She offered Marley the letter and she quickly read it, turning it over once. “I just can’t help thinking that I’m missing something.” 

“This doesn’t sound like her at all.” Marley’s features fell slack as Sirius plucked the parchment from her fingers. 

After he’d read it, he whistled loudly and jerked his chin towards where James stood, who joined them moments later. 

“What is it?” James then took his turn reading the parchment and turned to stare at Hermione. “When did you get this?”

“I don’t know exactly,” she confessed. “I was in the hospital when it arrived and it fell under the bed somehow.” 

James lips pursed in thought. “It sounds like she’s alright?” 

“I don’t know, mate. We hear nothing for  _ months _ and then this is what she sends? Marley’s right; this doesn’t sound like Lily.” 

“Well, what do you suggest we do, Paddy? She said she wanted to leave; she left. She says she’s okay… I’m not sure we can—” 

“We need to find her,” Hermione interrupted, filling her lungs with a fortifying breath. “I need to make sure she’s okay because while I’m most certainly rubbish at Divination, I can tell when something isn’t right.” 

James and Sirius shared a look and finally, James sighed and ran a palm down his cheek. “We can try— _ try _ —to trace her at the DLME but without proof of her magical signature to match it’ll be difficult.” 

Hope flared to life in Hermione’s chest. “But you’ll try.” 

His lips twitched in a smile, and he nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to deny you, witch.” 

“Oi, that’s a lot of power, Kitten. I might need to trade you some favours to get Prongs to do my bidding.” Then Sirius’ eyes caught on something over their shoulder and the room fell silent.

Standing in the door frame was a skinny, gaunt version of Remus Lupin. 

It felt as if the room sucked in a collective gasp just at the sight of him. Dark purple circles shadowed his eyes, and his prominent bone structure that was normally quite dashing, now made him look skeletal. All of that was nothing compared to the scratches and bruises marring his skin. 

“Fucking hell,” Sirius muttered as both he and James rushed to their friend’s side. Peter arrived a moment later, concern evident in his features. 

The rest of the party returned to a much less lively state of low, uncomfortable rumblings as the guests tried to ignore the reunion of the four Marauders. Marley and Hermione stayed stock still, eyes never leaving them. Remus tried to smile, tried to push away their prodding fingers as they pointed out the various injuries on his skin. 

James moved first, wrapping his friend in a hug, and while most might assume the others would wait their turn, they layered their embraces in a giant hug. 

“He looks like shite,” Marley said quietly, her voice trembling. “Merlin, what he must have been through.” 

Indignation on Remus’ behalf surged forward. Dumbledore had sent him with little more than a coin purse and a mission to assimilate into a dangerous hierarchy. He must have known what would have happened and still, he sent him. 

Hermione loosened a tight breath, resolve settling in her chest. “He can’t go back.” 

With a snort, Marlene nudged her and shook her head. “You’ve never met a more stubborn man than Remus Lupin. I doubt there is anything that would get him to stay.” 

But that wasn’t true… 

Lily could get him to stay. 

xXx

After the twins had broken the coffee table and a lamp, the party fizzled out. The guests Apparated from the lawn one by one until it was just them sitting in the rigid quiet around the broken furniture. 

It seemed everyone was declining to speak, even Remus. Hermione sat on the edge of her seat, hands tucked under her legs as she gnawed on her lip. 

Finally, after an eternity, Remus spoke. “Merlin, I don’t think I’ve seen you all this quiet since you first found I was a wolf.” Still, they remained silent. “It’s not all that bad.” 

“Mate, you look like they tore you to shreds, and you haven’t eaten in months.” 

Remus’ lips twitched in a sad smile. “Well, I’m the runt. What do you expect? Besides, it’s only because we’re just past the moon. The pack gets a little more raucous during the moon and it got carried away.” 

Hermione's chest physically ached the more he tried to play off his obvious distress as nonchalance. 

After a long drink, Remus sighed and placed his beer between his feet. “I’ll be fine; I’ve been through worse. Mostly I just want to sleep in a proper bed.” 

Wincing, Hermione offered, “Maybe we ought to postpone our trip to Hog—” 

“Absolutely not. I’m fine and we need to get this taken care of. Think of it this way: if we end all this, we don’t need any werewolf packs on our side. It’ll be over.” Everything hinged on those final three words and she nodded. 

“So…” James edged, eyes darting around the circle. “We go?” 

Remus stood on shaky legs. “We go.”

xXx

**A/N: Apologies for the later update today! I hope you enjoyed the chapter as we barrel towards the Great Rooster Raid of Hogwarts.**

**As always, thank you to my lovely alphabet: NuclearNik, Ravenslight, and Farmulousa for their invaluable help on this chapter.**

**And thank to you for taking time to read! Your support means everything to me.**

**Next week, the Marauders return to Hogwarts :D**

  
  
  
  



	34. Chapter 34

Hogsmeade

June 1980

It was late afternoon when the six of them arrived at the edge of Hogsmeade. They tried their best to appear unassuming; James and Sirius slung their arms around their respective girlfriends, while the other two boys gathered on the fringes. Remus carried a very large—slightly moving—bag while Peter’s eyes darted wildly around the alley.

To anyone watching they looked like a group of friends gathering for a nostalgic drink at the Three Broomsticks, but inside, her heart was racketing wildly against her ribs, thudding to an impossible beat that quickened with each measured step. 

They wound through town and across the bridge, veering hard to the left as the silhouette of the Shrieking Shack came into view. 

James' arm fell away as they approached the dilapidated building. “Dumbledore charmed the windows and doors to be unusable our sixth year. He didn’t want anyone able to get in.” 

Panic surged in Hermione’s chest as she sucked in a sharp breath. “How do we—” 

With a broad grin, Sirius approached one side of the house.“We got wasted at the Three Broomsticks after we’d finished school and decided we wanted to be able to come back and visit the old place.” Without another word, he stepped clear through the wall. 

Marley rolled her eyes. “He’s such a fucking show-off.” Then she, Peter, and Remus entered the same way, without as much fanfare. 

“We blew a hole in the side of it and Moony charmed it.” James gestured towards the vanishing spot. “After you, love.” 

It didn’t matter how many times she’d travelled through the platform at King’s Cross; she always felt a thrill of fear each time, uncertain if just once the magic wouldn’t bid her entry. This felt much the same. She winced as she stepped through the wall, her features relaxing as she crossed, James right behind her.

“I’m pretty sure…” Sirius’ boots clunked across the wood floor, and he kicked at a loose floorboard, which promptly lifted. “Aha!” He proudly hoisted a half empty bottle of firewhisky, covered in dust and dirt. 

“We’re about to sneak a rooster into the pen of an ancient Basilisk, mate,” Remus deadpanned. “Could we lay off the booze for a little while?” 

“You’re so  _ boring, _ Moony. You were much more fun before, I’m sure of it.” 

Remus laughed mirthlessly and adjusted the bag on his shoulder. “Someday you’re going to have to grow up, Sirius. It’s not all fun and games, you know.” 

With a scoff, Sirius’ hand fell lamely to his side as his lip curled. “Right, because fourteen hour Auror shifts are such a treat. You always do like to think you’re better than us, don’t you?” 

“Boys,” Marley warned, her foot tapping impatiently. “Let’s just settle down. You’ve been separated for weeks, Remus is just past the moon, and we are about to risk our bloody lives. Can you try to get along?  _ Please. _ ”

They both grumbled their assent, and Hermione turned for the spot that gave way to the passage. 

“How’d you know?” James asked, close on her heels. She hummed in response as she crawled into the dark corridor. “How’d you know where the secret passage was?”

Her brow wrinkled as the distant memory rushed to the surface. “Oh, I’ve been here before.”

James looked at her sidelong for a moment but said nothing more as they began their slow trek down the narrow passageway. She pulled her wand, fingers slick with sweat, and cast, “ _ Lumos _ .”

Soft, golden light lit their path, and they made their way towards the Whomping Willow. 

Remus grumbled from the back of the line. “The rooster—” 

“Richard,” Sirius and Hermione corrected in unison. 

“Fucking hell…  _ Richard _ is getting restless. I think the Calming Draught is wearing off.” 

She’d been afraid of that. Peter, who was still inordinately at odds with the fowl, had suggested they stun it. Not only was Hermione violently opposed to stunning a defenseless animal, but she wasn’t exactly sure what the bird could withstand. A spell like that could kill him. 

The options for sneaking the bird into the castle weren’t ideal, but they’d settled on a Calming Draught and hiding him in a shoulder bag. They didn’t want him so sleepy he wouldn’t wake to crow when they needed him, but they also didn’t particularly want him to be clucking and pecking his way through the corridors of Hogwarts. 

“Let’s hurry.” James’ voice was missing the playful tone it always carried. The seriousness of the night ahead felt like it was pressing down around them and each step carried them closer to a very possible death. 

Richard would crow. All would be fine.

xXx

All was  _ not _ fine. 

Some of the cheekier portraits started whispering, which was frustrating enough as it was the summer holiday and they’d hoped most of them would be in other frames, but Filch had begun lurking before they’d made it to the third floor. 

That was why the lot of them were shoved in a tiny broom cupboard with a rooster. Peter shuffled beside her, making them all share a groan in the cramped space as he pulled the Marauder’s Map free and opened it.  _ “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” _

“I still don’t understand how he has it,” Hermione whispered to James. 

“Why?”

“Filch has it in the future; I only assumed he confiscated it from you when you were at school.” 

Remus snickered, and Sirius growled. 

“Will you two just stop?” James let out a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We all have a map; we made them at the same time and replicated them.  _ Sirius _ was caught out past curfew and Filch took  _ his _ map. Presumably the one you lot had in the future, which is bloody brilliant, I must say. Glad a new generation could pull the wool over Filch’s eyes.” 

“Alright,” Peter said, “Looks like he’s back in his office. But the portraits are already talking, and they don’t seem as keen on us as they did a few years ago.” 

Remus snorted. “They were never keen. Little shits always told on us..” 

“Prefect's bathroom? Fifth floor?” Marley asked, eyeing the map. “I don’t even remember the bloody halls anymore.” 

“I do.” Adrenaline surged through her, frantic energy mixed with a strange sense of instinctual calm. “We have to go fast.” 

James pressed a kiss to her temple and reached for the door knob just as Peter whispered behind her,  _ “Mischief managed.”  _

She whipped around, finding him with an innocent, doe-eyed expression and his wand pointed at the map. “What?”

She blinked, shaking away the memory of Harry that was threatening to steal her attention. “Nothing, sorry. Let’s go.” 

With a final fortifying breath, they exited the broom cupboard. They moved well as a team, staying close and working quickly up the stairs and down the corridors. A few more portraits whispered as they made their way past but as long as they could get to the bathroom in the next few minutes, Filch wouldn’t be able to catch up. 

Finally, they arrived at the entrance, and Peter pulled his map free again. “Yeah, he’s coming but he’s still down on the ground floor.” 

Hermione ducked into the bathroom. “One of the taps doesn’t work.” 

“What are you doing in my bathroom?” A croaky, familiar voice echoed through the room and Hermione paid it no mind. 

“Hello, Myrtle,” the rest of them said in slow unison. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the ghost reprimanded, spinning around the faucets and watching as Hermione twisted each one on. “You’re breaking the rules.” 

There wasn’t enough time to listen to Moaning Myrtle chastise Hermione for breaking rules and when she reached the fourth tap and water didn’t begin trickling free, she actually laughed out loud. 

“This is it!” She buried her arm in her bag past the broomsticks and vials to grab hold of the small, wooden jewelry box at the bottom. Frank told them to get the blasted thing away from headquarters, and she planned on leaving it in the bowels of the castle when she had no more use for it. Theo Nott Sr. could find his way to the Chamber of Secrets if he was desperate enough to find her. 

She lifted the lid and tapped her wand on its edge, the slow, somber song of Salazar Slytherin playing effortlessly. And her friends—and Myrtle—gathered around her back as she waited with bated breath. 

At first, it didn’t move and she was sure she’d messed it up. Maybe the parseltongue had to be present to open the chamber… Maybe they were fucked. 

Then, the universe responded in kind and the sink shifted and fell away, revealing a large opening that disappeared into nothingness. 

A disbelieving laugh erupted from her belly, and she clamped her fingers over her lips.  _ Merlin, _ she’d done it. She’d found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. 

Now all they had to do was climb into the bottomless pit and seek out a fifty-foot Basilisk. 

_ Easy.  _

“If we’re gonna go, it’s gotta be now,” Peter rushed, nose buried in the map.

“See you at the bottom,” James said to no one in particular as he stepped up to the edge. With a long breath he let go, disappearing into the shadows. Hermione stepped up next, anxiety thrashing through her system as she slipped down. 

The tunnel was endless, her body rocketing further and further down until she knew she was beyond even the dungeons. Then just as she was sure she was going to collide with a wall of sheetrock, the tunnel ended and she slid onto a dusty floor. 

With a grunt, she rose to stand, her knees crunching into something hard. 

James was at her side, helping her to her feet. “Steady, love.” 

Peter came through a moment later just as Hermione realised that the mess at her feet were thousands of skeletons and loose bones of various animals. The sheer number was horrifying, but it was accompanied by the reality that the creature who’d devoured them waited ahead. 

When the last of them had made their way down, they shared a sombre look before they turned and began the long trek towards the Chamber of Secrets. Behind her she could hear Remus wrangling the rooster in his sack, and she knew they weren’t close enough. She picked up the pace, pushing past James as they rounded a bend. 

“You are the worst werewolf in the history of the world, Moony,” Sirius whispered. “You’re meant to be ferocious and you can’t even keep that damn bird still.” 

James groaned and turned to poke Sirius with his wand. “That’s enough—” 

The boys stopped and Hermione reluctantly did too; they couldn’t go in like this. Remus set the bag at his feet and took a menacing step forward.“Fuck off, Sirius. Whatever crawled up your arse and died is festering, and you really ought to do something about it.” 

  
  


“Something crawled up  _ my _ arse and died? I didn't realize you could get  _ more _ mopey but ever since Lily left you’ve been nothing but a pain in my arse.” 

At this point even Peter had tried to interject between the two Marauders who were nearly nose to nose, trying to quiet them in vain. A feral growl ripped up Remus’ throat and echoed off the walls of the tunnel. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Hermione whipped around, staring into the unending darkness of the way they’d been heading. She counted breaths but each one stretched on an eternity. It wasn’t as though she expected to see the Basilisk slither his way towards them a moment later, but the weight of a mistake still lingered in the air. 

A moment later she heard the ruffling of feathers and scratching of talons into packed earth, and Hermione reeled, searching in the ambient light of the shared  _ Lumos _ until her eyes caught on Richard near Remus' feet, free from his bag. She recognized the wild lift to his feathers and the way his head drew back. 

Before she could lift her wand and mutter a single spell, his crow bounced around them, filling the tunnel with its fatal cry. She could feel the noose tightening around her neck. 

“Fuck,” James said on a breath and suddenly, he had the bird in his arms. 

They ran forward into the darkness, instinct burning through Hermione like fire in her veins. Suddenly all those sprints around the Marauder house didn’t seem so useless because now she trusted her feet to carry her. Instinct burned through her, setting her blood on fire and heightening her senses. 

There was a chance—albeit, a very small one—that they’d been close enough for the crow to kill the Basilisk but proximity was important. They’d most likely given away their approach and sent the Basilisk on the move.

No one spoke as they skidded to a stop in front of the looming doors. It was exactly how she’d imagined it from Harry’s retelling, and she lifted her hand for the briefest of moments to brush her fingertips along the detailed carving of the snake’s scales. 

The others crowded around her as her hand fell away. 

“Ready for some mischief, boys?” James asked. 

Marley stepped forward, her shoulders pushed back.  _ “And girls.” _

“Sorry, mate,” Sirius whispered to Remus. “I love all of you idiots the same.” 

Remus scoffed. “You’re a tosser… but I love you, too.” 

James lifted his wand. “Eyes on the ground and get that rooster to the highest location you can.”

Despite the slight tremble to her fingers, she lifted the lid of the music box and tapped the edge with her wand. The same soft song lilted through the air and slowly the doors to the chamber opened. 

She locked her gaze on the floor and just as they’d planned, she, James, and Remus split off to the right with Sirius, Marley, and Peter to the left. She couldn’t properly take in the grandeur of the massive chamber as they worked their way further inside. 

It was quiet, so quiet she was quite sure they were alone and that made the tension of the moment even worse. They could fight it if they knew where it was; they’d be on the offense. 

They were dead if they had to fight on the defensive. As they stopped behind the first stone column, Hermione pulled three small mirrors from her bag and handed one to each of the boys. 

Angling it over her shoulder, she tried to get a better feel for the layout of the room. Mostly it was empty with a giant, ornately carved bust of who she could only assume to be Salazar Slytherin at the top of the room. There were no ledges, no furniture. There was nothing. 

A low hiss slipped through the air, and her breath rushed from her lungs as she sank back, the cool stone of the pillar chilling her spine. Memories of the first time she’d encountered the beast floated through her mind, twisting her heart painfully.

James' fingers threaded through hers, and she whipped around to look at him, studying the details of his face as he brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. He mouthed a silent  _ I love you _ and then began to move.

Her heart  _ ached _ , her magic reaching for him as he moved along in a low crouch, letting their fingers fall untwined. 

Hermione checked the area with her mirror as Remus and James pressed onward, already two columns away by the time she felt confident enough to move, and she wasn’t even holding a bloody rooster. 

She kept low, the staccato of her heartbeat punctuating each step. From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow flicker and trained her eyes on the ground, never faltering even as the enormous body of the Basilisk came into view. 

It moved with surprising agility considering its size; how it had survived off the critters under the school was lost on her because it was the one of the largest animals she’d ever seen, possibly bested only by a dragon. 

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she counted exactly two breaths. The Basilisk slithered down the centre of the room, its movements almost agitated as it crept along. 

James  _ tsked _ his tongue and caught her attention. She nodded and with that one single movement, he placed Richard on the ground. 

It felt… _anticlimactic._ How long had she imagined the ridiculous moment that the rooster took on the thousand year old Basilisk? 

But Richard just stood there, his head cocked to the side as James and the bird stared at each other. 

Another hiss, this one decidedly more dangerous, ricocheted off the stone walls. Out of sheer desperation, Hermione darted towards James, crossing the space in only a few long strides. She pushed gently at Richard’s bottom but he didn’t move, only fluffed his feathers and scratched his talons against the stone. 

She could hear the snake moving and turned with her back to the pillar and again checked her mirror, her chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. “It’s moving,” she hissed. Manic energy welled up inside her and she cursed it all because they couldn’t get the damn rooster to crow.

The looming sounds of their deaths prowling throughout the chamber urged them to move, snatching Richard up and carrying him towards the mouth of Salazar Slytherin. Hermione chanced a look towards the entrance through her mirror and saw the end of a long tail disappearing around a row of columns to where they had just been standing. 

They were running out of time and out of bloody options. She set Richard on the highest perch she could find and then sprinted towards the far side of the room where the other three were hiding. 

Rounding the pillars, they stopped dead in their tracks as the sight of Sirius lying lifeless on the floor, his body rigid and eyes forced open. On a shuttered breath, they crashed into motion, sliding on their knees to where he lay. 

_ “Mufflilato _ . What the fuck happened?” James asked, pressing his fingers into the hollow under his friend's jaw, finally breathing a sigh of relief. 

Peter bared his teeth.“The damn thing heard the rooster. Sirius tried to distract with another noise but he looked at it in the mirror.” 

Hermione nodded, her mind chasing a hundred variables. “He’ll be okay; we’ll get him the antidote, but we need to end this now. James can you shift to your stag maybe that will—” 

“Scare the living daylights of the bird?” he deadpanned, and she grimaced at her own poor idea.

“Remus, can you—”

“I’m not an Animagus, Hermione. No moon, no wolf.” 

In a slow tandem they all turned to Peter who was already violently shaking his head. “No.” 

“Pete…” Remus started. 

“No. I’m not turning into bloody Basilisk food and chasing the damn rooster down.” 

“We’ll distract the Basilisk,” Hermione said as she pulled free a handful of blindfolds. “All you have to do is chase him to the top.” 

Peter grumbled for several moments, muttering expletives as he shook free from his pack and gripped his wand. “You all bloody owe me and so help me if that fucking thing eats me—” 

“We’ve got you mate,” James said and not a second later, Peter’s features were transforming, pulling tight as he shrank. 

Hermione had never seen Peter’s Animagus, not really. She’d seen Wormtail shift and scamper away, sealing Sirius’ fate but this rat was almost… cute. He looked as if he shook his head and then took off on his tiny legs, hugging the corner of the corridor. 

A loud warning hiss followed by quick movements sounded near them, and they took off in a run towards the mouth of the cave, each of them tying blindfolds to their eyes. The fabric was thick enough they could see general shapes but hopefully still enough to keep them alive. 

She skidded to a stop, hugging a pillar and checking her mirror. She could see the thick body of the serpent sliding across the floor and clenching her eyes shut, she reeled on it, wand drawn. “ _ Bombarda!” _

Her spell missed, not that it would have mattered if she’d landed it between his eyes due to the way its scales deflected magic. She could hear the scattering of stone and reasoned that she must have hit a pillar as she continued forward. 

Always forward. 

Marley’s voice came next, followed by Remus and then James. Each of them cast in quick succession, giving a wide berth like they’d planned to try and push the Basilisk towards the middle of the room. 

Eyes closed and chin tucked, Hermione strained to hear something…  _ anything _ . But it was drowned out by the constant stream of magic and the snapping jaw of the Basilisk. It didn’t sound like it was on the move; they were doing a good job keeping it surrounded. 

_ “Stupefy!”  _

_ “Bombarda!”  _

_ “Confringo!” _

One after another the spells floated through the air and she turned, panting and letting her magic replenish in her core as she checked the mirror. She looked once, twice, and then caught the beast slithering towards the columns once again. 

“Marley! On your right!” Their feet slapped against the stone floor as they all took off in a run, darting for the mouth of Salazar Slytherin. Hermione took a chance and pulled the blindfold down just in time to see Peter nipping at the rooster:s ankles. Richard jumped away, flapping his wings as he hopped onto the very top of the massive bust. 

Roosters were territorial, often crowing to keep predators away from their hens. She choked on a relieved breath as Richard’s feathers fluffed and his head cocked back as he looked down on her. 

A ear-shattering crow sliced through the air just as the final sounds of the spells faded away. 

There was no way it could’ve worked. 

It was impossible that such an innocuous sound could take down a thousand year old Basilisk.

But a moment later she heard a thud that shook the floor under her feet. 

Richard’s body shook through another wailing crow, the sound now music to her ears as Peter scampered down and next to her, shifting back to his normal height. He was facing the entrance, and a mirthless laugh bubbled from his lips. 

“Would you look at that,” he said, nudging her. “We just killed a fucking Basilisk.” 

Hermione sucked in a breath and turned slowly, her vision obstructed by Remus' and James’ wide shoulders. She stepped forward, and as soon as the animal came into view, she fell to her knees, a torrent of elated emotions racing through her. 

_ They’d just killed a fucking basilisk.  _

xXx

**A/N: Welp, there it is lol the infamous rooster raid. I will never forgive JKR for a thousand things but making the basilik have a mortal enemy of a rooster is nearing the top of the list lol When I first started plotting, I had epic battle plans for this scene and then I remembered… the fucking rooster. It’s really ridiculous because of course Hermione & Co would use the advantages they could, that being a rooster, but smuggling Richard was so cracky and ridiculous and omg lol ** **  
** **  
** **So I hope you enjoyed it even if it’s insane!**

**Biggest thanks to Farmulousa, NuclearNik, Ravenslight for their help on this chapter and for listening to me whine about it for MONTHS. Here’s a delightful little manip from Ravens herself if you’re on AO3 and if you’re not head over to Tumblr (same penname) to check out Richard in all his glory lol.**

**Until next week!** **  
**   
  


****


	35. Chapter 35

Longbottom Hall

July 1980

“The castle’s wards are standard at best,” Fabian said, gesturing to a magically projected map on the wall. “But they’ll trigger our arrival.” 

Peter’s face scrunched to one side, and he massaged the back of his neck. “You said the magical traces there are light. How do we even know it’s them?”

The twins shared a look, and Gideon’s hands came down to rest on the back of a chair, squeezing it until his knuckles were white. “We don’t. It could be nothing but while the traces are light, they are frequent. Too frequent to be a coincidence and the wards aren’t there for nothing.” 

Hermione’s blood was purring in her ears as she stared at the strategy laid out for them by the Prewett twins. It felt far too eerily similar to Fred and George; she’d trust them with her life… but she wasn’t so sure about battle plans. 

They would be storming the wards of Buchanan Castle in two days’ time and while there was still the ever-present trepidation, a sense of purpose burned in her once more.

They’d killed a Basilisk. They had a Horcrux and leads on another and now, Hermione would be part of the first offensive mission in the Order’s history. 

For once, Hermoine wasn’t running away; she was running towards. The power inside her that she felt so attuned to hummed. 

“What else?” one of the twins asked, tearing her from her reverie. 

James lifted his fingers. “Transportation? Only a handful of us have been there.” 

“Portkeys will be provided,” Moody grumbled from the head of the table. “Frank is ensuring this as we speak. They’ll drop you in various locations around the estate; work towards the castle. You’re to wait at the wards’ edge until the signal drops.” 

“Then?” Marley asked, her voice quieter than Hermione could ever remember hearing it. 

Moody’s gaze shot to hers, tightening for a splinter of a moment as his jaw steeled. “Then you blast it to high hell and storm the fortress.” 

xXx

The briefing for the mission ended an hour or so later, and the chosen team began to filter away from the table. 

James tucked an arm over her shoulder and leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s now or never, love.” 

She knew he was referencing her looming discussion with Moody, and the man in question seemed to sense it too. He remained stock-still, hands folded over each other as he glared at her. 

“Maybe I’ll just—” 

“Granger! I’d like a word.” Moody’s voice boomed through the kitchen and Hermione jumped in her seat, hands slamming against the tabletop. 

The truth of the matter was that in theory, Hermione had no patience for Alastor Moody’s cranky disposition and misogynistic undertones. In practice, however, she was petrified of the man. Call it survival instincts, but she knew his face when it’d belonged to another. _That_ man had been surprisingly helpful _—_ if only his intentions had been in the right place. 

The Moody she knew briefly in her fifth and sixth year was everything a dark wizard catcher ought to be: cold-blooded and unyielding. 

She swallowed and nodded stiffly. “Of course.” An embarrassing squeak sounded, and she winced at the sound. 

“Good luck,” James whispered as he rose to stand. “Come by after?” 

Humming a response, Hermione sat tall and attempted to work as much confidence to the tip of her tongue as humanly possible. 

Silence stretched through the air in the wake of James’ exodus, and Hermione and Moody sat in a tight staring match from far ends of the table. 

“Why don’t you begin, Granger?”

“Right.” She cleared her throat. “I understand that the werewolf incident could have gone much worse—” 

“You could have not only killed yourself but compromised two Aurors in the process,” he supplied plainly, causing her teeth to slam shut. 

“I am aware, _sir_. My issue comes in that you seem to think the fault lies with me being a woman.” 

“My fault lies with _you_ , Granger.” The quick bite of his reprimand made her flinch. “You seem to forget your role in the Order; you wear our mark, you live in our headquarters. You risk the lives of our members. And still, you refuse to adhere to the guidelines which keep us as safe as possible during these troubled times.” 

Hermione blinked. Then again. _“What?”_

“Women are not allowed on field missions without a partner. End of.” 

“No.” 

His thick brow arched disdainfully. _“No?”_

“I refuse it. I will be partnering with Marley for the upcoming mission, and I will agree not to forage or go on a mission _alone_ but I do not need a _male_ escort. If this is a direct order, then it should fall over everyone in the Order, men included. I agree that it’s not safe in the current climate for anyone to be out alone, but it’s barbaric for you to pin my mistake on my gender. So, no.” 

Moody was seething; she could see it clear as day from where she sat and as much as she wanted to grimace and beg for her old professor’s approval, she remained strong. 

“Do you have anything else you’d like to confess to?” He enunciated every syllable, baring his teeth in the process.

“Confess?” The world tasted like vinegar on her tongue. “Am I being accused of something?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Alastor tapped his walking stick on the wood floor and a stack of parchment materialised. He began idly flipping through the pages. “Do you know what these are?”

She huffed. “Of course not.” 

“These are the testimonies of no less than ten portraits and one ghost from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Are you aware there was a break-in last weekend?”

Hermione blanched, the blood in her cheeks dripping down her cheeks until she felt she might faint. It’s not that she thought they’d make it out sans consequence, but she certainly didn’t think she’d be facing the repercussions alone and what’s more, with Alastor Moody. 

“I was.” 

“You were?” he repeated uselessly, because quite clearly he was already aware. 

“I was because I was there.”

“So you _do_ have something to confess.” Moody dropped the parchments and sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his broad chest. “I could have you arrested.” 

It was a bluff if she ever saw one. “You _could_.” 

“What were you doing there? The portraits can not account for your time for upwards of ninety minutes, and you flew from the premises on broom back and in quite a rush.” 

“You could say that.” The corner of her lips twitched but she fought the smile before it broke over her features. “I’m afraid it’s confidential, and I need to take the issue up with Professor Dumbledore before anyone else.” 

Moody glowered and it was almost as if she was pushing her pawn into his checkmate. “Your insubordination will not be tolerated.” 

She felt a bit of her ire soften, and she leaned her elbows across the table. “Sir, I don’t want to be insubordinate; trust me, if you knew me, you’d know how abhorrent the very thought is. My mission here runs unilaterally with the war effort and is instrumental to the fall of You-Know-Who. I left my friends and family, my entire life to fix this but my hands were and are tied. I have to do something to find these bloody Horcruxes or everything will be for naught. Professor Dumbledore refused to help; _he left_. I did what I thought was necessary to secure a tool we need in order to be able to destroy the Horcruxes.” 

Once she’d backed off of the offense, she could see that he did as well, if only marginally. “I am not comfortable with you and Marley partnering together on such an important mission.” 

“With all due respect, sir, Marley and I have worked together for months now. We’ve apprehended four Death Eater initiates and saved Muggles from a burning building. We know each other; we’re a team. I think it’s safest if we are together.” 

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Moody seemed to be churning over the sickening idea of submitting to her. “I will consider it, and you’ll have my answer by the morning of the mission.” 

Hope flared to life in her chest, and she nodded quickly. 

“No one is to be on a mission without explicit permission from myself, Frank, or Shacklebolt. Is that understood?”

Hermione squirmed in her chair, nose wrinkling. “Yes, sir.” 

“Now—” 

“If this is about Hogwarts…” 

“Dumbledore would like to see you.” 

She was sure that the resounding drop of her heart into her stomach was audible; her palms broke out into a sweat. “Dumbledore? I thought—I thought he was gone.” 

“He’s back, for now. Urgent business that demands your attention it seems.” 

Despite knowing that she was in for a very serious verbal lashing and quite possibly dismissal from the Order, Hermione remained calm. “When?”

Moody stood, the legs of his chair scratching against the wooden floors. “Now.” 

xXx

With a soft _pop_ and a roiling stomach, Hermione and Moody arrived on the edge of a massive cliff overlooking the unmistakable hills of Scotland. In the distance, she saw the faint silhouette of Hogwarts and fresh anxiety bubbled to the surface. 

“Miss Granger.” 

Hermione would know the weathered, tired voice of Albus Dumbledore anywhere. Even after his death, she recognised it as well as her own. 

She turned slowly, swallowing the knot nestling itself in her vocal cords. “Professor.”

Moody remained silent but she could see him from the corner of her vision, watching carefully. 

“I hear you’ve had quite an interesting summer.” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes wrinkling in amusement. “And I hear you’ve gone and killed the Basilisk, despite my objections.”

Tension pressed in on her throat until she was sure the words would never escape. “Yes, Professor.” 

His silver brow arched over his half-moon spectacles, and he nodded. “Impressive, I must say. I will admit at first, I was confused by your match with James Potter, but as I get to know you, I find the similarities to be quite obvious.” 

Whatever had been racketing inside her chest quieted, and she let out a sharp, relieved huff. “We retrieved the fangs. Ten, to be safe.”

Dumbledore hummed and folded his hands together, turning to stare out over the fog rolling over the emerald green hills. “Do you know why I asked you here, Miss Granger?”

Her brows knit tightly, and she took an unsure step forward. “I assumed the Basilisk.” 

He shook his head just slightly. “Do you know Sybill Trelawney?” 

“Yes. She was the Divination professor.” 

A soft chuckle rumbled through the air. “That pleases me as I’ve just offered her the position. She came to me some weeks ago with an ill omen about a boy who would be born as the _seventh month dies,_ as she so aptly put it.” 

The endless amounts of air around her felt vacuumed, and she faltered where she stood. “Sorry, what?” 

Hermione knew that prophecy; she’d studied each word and memorised it backwards. But things had changed, irreparably so; she’d assumed the prophecy would have as well. 

“And this would have been your friend, Mister Potter?”

“Yes, but I’d hoped...”

Finally, he turned, genuine confusion evident in the sharp ridges of his brow. “Have you shared this information with anyone else?”

Her gaze fell to the grass between them. “I had held out hope Harry would be born for the longest time. When You-Know-Who learned of the prophecy he went for Harry first but it just as easily could have been another boy born in late July. The Longbottoms give birth to a baby boy on July thirtieth. When it was obvious Harry wasn’t going to be born, I—” 

The words caught painfully in her throat, and she swallowed them away before continuing, “I’d hoped things had changed.”

Dumbledore shook his head, skepticism evident in every line on his face. “And you’re absolutely sure it is the Longbottom child?”

She paused, racking her brain for maybe something— _someone_ —she may have missed. “I don’t know who else it could have been. No one else in our year fits…” 

“Very well, Miss Granger.” There was something in his tone that settled ill against her skin. “Let’s reconvene within the fortnight.” 

“Th—that’s all?”

Dumbledore seemed bemused by her response, his lips twisting just so under his silver mustache. “Unless there was something else you needed?”

“I just thought—” Hermione huffed and shook her head free from the errant thoughts clouding her mind. “Well, I thought you’d be upset about the Chamber of Secrets.” 

“Well, I’m certainly not pleased but it seems that in this instance the end justifies the means. I’m simply glad you’re all safe and you have the tools needed to complete the task at hand. Have Alice or Molly show you to the safe at headquarters; the password is _Hippocampus_. You’ll find the other Horcrux there and the fangs you procured will be quite safe there as well.” 

“Oh. Yes, alright. Thank you, Professor.” 

“I will speak to you very soon, Miss Granger.” There was something there, something in the weight of his words that made her defenses rise.

Then, as quietly as he’d arrived, he was gone in a column of smoke now little more than a whisper on the wind. 

xXx

Hermione didn’t head directly for the Marauder House; instead, she had Alice show her to the nook in the study, hidden in plain sight under a Notice-Me-Not charm. 

She was sure she’d have never noticed unless Alice pointed her directly at it, and even then she had to squint to focus on the shimmering edges of the safe. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Alice said, patting Hermione gently on the shoulder and waddling away. 

Hermione could do nothing but stare at the safe and then, without thought, she whipped back to where her friend was retreating. “Alice?” The witch stopped and turned, hands curling around her swollen belly. “I know something. Something I think you ought to know… but it can wait if you want.” 

Hermione’s dread was as palpable as if its long spiny fingers were reaching from her to Alice in slow motion. Realisation flickered over Alice’s features, and her gaze fell to where her hands were splayed over her stomach. “Do I want to know?” Her voice shook and it took all of Hermione’s strength not to weep for the thief of joy that the prophecy carried. 

“You need to… eventually. _Soon._ But not now.” 

Alice’s lips twitched into a faint smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Later, I think.”

Swallowing the torrent of emotion crawling up her throat, Hermione simply nodded. “Later, then.” 

Alice shuffled from the room, her giant belly preceding her into the hall. 

With a long, exhausted breath, Hermione stood in front of the safe that kept shifting away from her vision. _“Hippocampus.”_

The charm fell instantly away, as did a metal safe door, the gears clicking behind the surface. Inside was the wooden jewelry box, and with trembling fingers, she lifted the lid, sighing in relief when she set eyes on the ring, still nestled safely in the shadows. 

Reaching into her enchanted bag, she pulled the cloth-covered fangs from its clutches, careful to keep them securely wrapped as she placed the parcel inside the safe. She closed the safe with both hands, watching as the charm hid it from view yet again. 

xXx

James was waiting in the front room, glasses perched low on his nose as he studied rolls of parchment spread out over the table. Hermione took the moment to just _look_ at him again, at the thick-cut to his tricep as he leaned over his documents and the way he gnawed at his bottom lip in thought. 

Finally, he noticed her presence and turned with an arched eyebrow. “How was your meeting with Moody?”

“Not half as bad as I anticipated. So that’s something…” With a heavy trudge to her step, she crossed the room and leaned her bum against the edge of the table. “But I have to tell you something.” 

James ticked his chin to the side and matched her posture. “Please don’t say you’re leaving me for Peter.” 

Rolling her eyes, she fought a smile and poked him in the ribs. “You’re awful, and no, not today at least.” She sighed and placed her hand over his. “Moody took me to see Dumbledore.” 

“Fucking hell. What a tosser! He should have let us all go.” 

“It’s okay… I told you there was a prophecy made about who would be the one to defeat You-Know-Who? Well, Sybill Trelawney has seen it, officially. That prophecy is what marked Harry; it’s why You-Know-Who came for you. It’s— _it’s everything.”_

“Okay,” James hedged, his brows tugging together over the rim of his glasses. “But, _Harry_ doesn’t exist.” 

“The prophecy doesn’t _say_ it’s Harry, only that it will be a child born in late July.” Loosening a tight breath, Hermione bolstered her resolve. “Neville Longbottom is born on July 30th, 1980.” 

“What are you saying, Hermione?”

“Just that in removing the prophecy from Harry doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It shifted, I think. Shifted from the Potters to the Longbottoms.” She could almost see the gears churning in his head and when a low expletive slipped from his lips and he punched the air, she felt the air leave her lungs. 

“What are you saying? That I saved my skin and cost them theirs?”

“No— _not exactly_ ; they never made it out unscathed, but that’s not what’s important right now. That prophecy shouldn’t have been made. We’ve _changed_ things, important things. I thought that it would mean the prophecy would too but from what Dumbledore said it sounds the same.” 

“And what does this parent-killing prophecy say?” James bit out. 

Hermione glared at him, unamused by his icy tone considering it wasn’t as if she made the bloody prophecy herself. Nonetheless, she reached within the confines of her bag and rooted around until she felt the familiar edge of her leather journal. She sifted through the pages, stopping at a single spot with her thumb and reading aloud: 

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."_

Gawking, James snorted and rolled his eyes. “Sybill Trelawney is a hack.”

“No, she’s really not, and trust me, I wish she was,” she mumbled from the corner of her mouth. “This happens.” She emphasized it by presenting the journal.

Dragging a hand over his face, James groaned and tilted his gaze to the ceiling. “Thrice defied him? I’ve not defied the fool once.” 

Hermione’s eyes clenched closed, and she shook her head. “I don’t know! I don’t understand it all but you must have.” She trailed her fingertips over the words scrawled on the worn page. “ _This happens_. It’s what gets you killed and it might be what kills the Longbottoms killed if we don’t get it sorted.” 

James remained silent, staring at a spot on the wall as he gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Snivellus tried to recruit us.” 

The words slid through the air and slammed into her. “W- _what_?”

“Two years ago, when we were just out of Hogwarts. I could see it was killing the bloke to do it, but he said he had an opportunity for us and his _employer_ was interested in speaking to me, Sirius, even Lily. The git was intent that Lily come with him and at least hear him out. Said it might save her life. But we all knew he was already in over his head, and no way were we getting caught up in his bullshit.” 

“So you…” 

“We turned him down.” James' gaze settled on hers, his jaw locked. “We turned him down three times.” 

“Did Fr—”

“Frank and Alice?” Dragging a tongue along his teeth, he shook his head. “No. They didn’t.” 

Behind him, the door crashed open and Remus appeared, looking haggard and angry and depleted all at once. 

James took a cautious step towards him. “Moony?”

“I’m leaving.” 

A surprised laugh burst from inside James’ chest. “You’ve got another week before you have to get back.” 

“I don’t care; I’m going back to the continent. Now.” 

Hermione could feel a niggling at the back of her consciousness, the strain in the air as palpable as her own. 

“Talk to me, mate. Where have you even been? We expected you after the briefing but—” 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry…” Remus’ waterlogged eyes landed on Hermione and from where she stood, she could see the torment warring in his eyes and the slight quiver to his jaw. 

“Remus!” James called as his friend bound up the stairs. 

A few fraught moments later and he was back, clutching James in a tight hug. “Tell the others, yeah? I’ll be back when I can.” With a few long strides, Remus was at her side, studying her intently before dragging her into a hug. So quiet she was almost sure she missed it, he whispered in her ear. _“Find Lily.”_

Before she could formulate a single thought, her fingers reaching for his moth-eaten jumper, he was gone. Leaving a sinking stone in her belly. 

xXx

**A/N: Another week! Hope you enjoyed this update and we’ve got some action coming up! Thanks to my lovely BritishAlphaBet: Farmulousa, NuclearNik, and Ravenslight for all their love and attention on this chapter. You guys make me better!**

**  
****It’s a sad time for my country, women, and all marginalized peoples as we mourn the loss of a great champion, RBG. It feels apt that Hermione got to stick it to Moody this week. Stay strong in the face of endless darkness, my friends. Light is coming to us all!** **  
****  
**

**And if you're in the U.S., don't forget to V O T E.**


	36. Chapter 36

July 1980

Longbottom Hall

“Are you sure you’re ready?” 

Loosening a long sigh, Hermione’s lips twitched at the corner as she brought her palm up to cradle James’ stubbled cheek. “It’s going to be easy. We’ll all be back before you know it.” 

“If it’s easy, then we don’t need you, and you should stay,” he deadpanned. 

“Hah! I had to fight Moody to let me go with Marley and you think you’ll keep me on the bench now?”

Marlene appeared at her side, nudging her gently. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Jamie. We’ll be just fine, might even have some fun!” 

“None of this is  _ supposed _ to be fun—” His gaze focused on Hermione. “And you could get really hurt.”

“I won’t,” she reassured him, letting her hand fall away. 

The steel in his hazel eyes melted as his last chance at keeping her from danger died. “Fine. Take this, and if shit gets bad or you need an out, use it.” He pushed a small fold of fabric into her hands—the invisibility cloak. For a reason she couldn’t name, her heart fluttered, and she nodded, shrinking it with a simple charm and then stowing it in her back pocket. 

“It’s going to be okay, James. Promise.” He didn’t believe her; it was evident in the downturn of his lips as she spoke. Sirius stomped over, quickly taking Marlene’s face in his palms and kissing her like it was the very last time. They seemed to forget the world around them as they tangled together. 

And when she looked back at James, she felt the anxiety of the moment settle in the back of her throat. He lifted his face to the inky black sky above and locked his arm around her neck, dragging her hard against him and pressing a single kiss to her forehead before releasing her and shoving at Sirius’ shoulder. “Let’s go, Paddy. We’ve got to get our Portkey.” After a long look full of things left unsaid, he left.

“I love you,” she called out and he turned, retreating backwards a moment as he stared at her and mouthed a quiet,  _ Love you _ , in return. 

“You okay?” Marlene asked, linking her arm through Hermione’s. 

“Yeah.” She swallowed the foreboding feeling inching over her skin, and together they walked across the lawn toward their Portkey. 

xXx

Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel the vibrations of it against her ribs. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in a position like this, but it’d been quite awhile since she’d had to flex these particular muscles. 

The Portkeys had delivered six teams of two in various locations surrounding the fortress, just west of a small village in Scotland. As they worked towards the silhouette standing proudly in the night sky, the air pulsed tangibly. She kept low, careful to watch the overgrown brush of the estate. The familiar tingle of a ward pushed against her magic, and the two witches slowed, exchanging purposeful looks. 

They pulled their wands free, and, as discussed, Hermione cast a string of revealing charms. Magic leaked from the end of her wand, covering the ward in a vain attempt to find a weak spot—a spot she knew it wouldn’t find. 

Marlene cast a Patronus, and a small scruffy dog appeared, scratching at its ear. “We’ve made it to the ward on the southwest edge of the property.” With a flick of her wrist, the ethereal animal darted off in search of the other teams. 

“It’s not a blood ward,” Hermione breathed in relief. “A  _ Bombarda _ should do it when we get the signal.” 

“Aye,” Marley said, and they both fell back, wands at the ready and eyes trained on the sky. 

As the minutes ticked by, twelve teams were organising for the very first offensive attack from the Order. 

The significance of this moment was not lost on Hermione, and she ran the details through her mind for the millionth time. As much as she’d poured through her notebook and her sparse memories of the first war, she’d never found a single thing on an attack on Buchanan Castle. She’d no idea if there were casualties or injuries and that left her unsettled. 

A soft sizzle sounded in the quiet, followed by a booming that pierced the night. Red sparks rained around the estate, and Hermione sucked in a hard breath as she raised her wand. Her magic thrummed through her veins, winding down her arm and shooting forward.

_ “Bombarda!” _ The force of the spell kicked her wand arm back, and she quickly repositioned, this time aiming her wand higher towards the sky.  _ “Protego Pentrante Maximus, Protego Pentrante Maximus…”  _

With each cast, sharp blue magic shot forward in a long arch, colliding with the ward like bullets from a gun. Slowly, the protective magic fizzled and dissolved into nothing, and both Hermione and Marley dropped their wands lamely to their side. 

She allowed enough time for two long breaths, and then they were off, darting towards the crumbling fortress walls with abandon. They’d not been able to fully map out the fortress, but each unit had a plan; Hermione and Marley needed to secure the southwest wing, top to bottom. 

Wands drawn and glowing with soft Lumos charms, they slowed to ease their way into a gaping hole in the side. They turned, back to back and swept the area for curses. 

“ _ Revelum Caligo.”  _

_ “Malum Vestigum.” _

They casted in tandem, and upon finding nothing, they pushed further in. 

The foliage had overrun the grounds, as though a castle had grown from nothing in the middle of the Scottish Highlands. The atrium they found themselves in boasted no ceiling, open completely to the heavens, and as they entered through a collapsing window, the oppressive stone served as a vacuum. 

The first floor reminded her of a ballroom and together was quickly and easily cleared. Everywhere she looked, she could see the ghost of what this castle had once been, vestiges of grandeur that even centuries could not wash away. 

But the space was tainted; Hermione could feel the dark magic thrumming through the air like a heartbeat. It rubbed against her skin like a needy cat, desperate for something to latch onto. Shaking away the murky feeling, she turned to Marley. “Up first?”

Pausing to tie her blonde hair back, wand tucked between her teeth, Marley nodded in assent. “Aye.” 

As they moved up the stairwell, they continued their monotonous casting; when they found nothing on the landing of the second floor, they moved rhythmically, methodically checking each and every dilapidated room. 

“Clear,” Marley called out, dropping her wand and turning slowly about the room. “What room do you think this was?”

Hermione’s heart slowed to a normal pace as they took a quick reprieve, allowing her magic to replenish. Trailing her fingers along the broken stone, her fingers ran over unrecognizable furniture. As if they were both being called to the same spot, they made their way towards the giant hole in the wall that now served as a window to the estate. 

A knot formed in her throat as Hermione saw the clash of spells on the lawn and the swarm of Death Eaters fighting their way to the castle. “We need to go,” she bit out, fingers curling around her wand. 

“You know what that means…” Marley said. “Down we go.” 

There was little in the way of natural light on the second story of the southwest wing but some moonlight streaked through the crumbling cracks. She knew it wasn’t likely to be the same in the bowels of the castle. On trembling legs, they rushed down to the first floor again, quickly finding the cellar stairs. 

Darkness met them, and the reeking stench of black magic assaulted their senses. Marley’s eyes blew wide and round. “Should we call for backup?”

Lips twisting in thought, Hermione raised her wand.  _ “Homenum Revelio.”  _ The spell returned without alerting her to anyone too close in the vicinity. A silent war waged in Hermione, and her pride came out on top. “Let’s head down and cast again. If we come across anything, we’ll call.” 

Marley agreed and led the way down the stairs, a constant string of charms and protections tumbling past her lips. The cellar was suffocating; the light of their wands doing little to combat the overwhelming darkness. 

_ “Homenum Revelio,”  _ Hermione repeated, the sound echoing through the cramped space, and this time a low swooping fell over her. Her stomach plummeted, and she reeled on Marlene. “There’s someone here... more than one.” 

“Bugger it all to hell,” the blonde hissed, yanking up her shirt hem and revealing her hip bone and the small phoenix etched into her ivory skin.  _ “Resurgemus.”  _

Hermione winced as the phoenix on her shoulder flared to life. 

“H-hello? Is there someone there?” A rickety voice crawled through the darkness. 

They gasped, reaching for each other and retreating until their backs were pressed against the wall. Hermione couldn’t find a shred of courage, let alone her voice, and her fingers wrapped tightly around Marlene’s slender forearm.

_ “Help.” _ A new voice said, cracking in the quiet. “Please, please let us out.” 

The witches shared a frantic look and took off towards the noise, wands drawn. It took only one step too many— _ just one. _

They tripped a ward. 

The feeling was visceral, crashing over them as their wand light was snuffed out and they were plunged into darkness. 

“The fuck was that?” Marlene hissed. Hermione could just barely make out her silhouette from the ambient light of a small window near the ceiling. “Can you cast?”

Hermione tried her  _ Lumos _ . 

Nothing.

She moved to retreat and froze mid-step, colliding with the wall of the ward.  _ They were trapped.  _

“Who are you?” the second voice asked. 

Scouring the darkness, Hermione’s gaze settled on a set of iron bars and rushed towards them. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out half a dozen people inside. Details came slowly into view: torn and tattered clothing and dirty skin. 

“Marley, I think they’re Muggles… I think—” Her words betrayed her, unable to breathe her thoughts into existence. 

“Someone’s coming, Hermione. Where’s the cloak?” Marlene crowded around her, dragging her towards a stone wall. The two witches huddled together as Hermione retrieved the cloak and draped it over their heads. 

Their breaths were too loud, their fingers winding together and squeezing painfully as they waited. Each step down the stairs felt like a stay of execution, and the adrenaline pumping in her system caused Hermione’s vision to wane. 

A soft collision sounded, followed by an exaggerated groan. “Prongs, get off my fucking arse.” 

The voice hissing through the air had never caused such relief to surge through her, and she ripped the cloak from their heads, panting. “James!” 

The pair of Marauders came into view, and they began rushing toward them. Marlene’s hand shot out.  _ “Stop!” _

Thankfully they stopped short, and a rushed explanation tumbled from Marley’s mouth. Hermione could do nothing but stare at James, at the way the corner of his eyes wrinkled in concentration at the space between them and the muscles of his throat strained. 

“You’re stuck?” His eyes darted to Hermione. His features were drenched with desperation and frustration as he raked his hand through his hair. 

Sirius dragged a palm down his stubbled cheek and stared at the space between them. “Backup should be here soon. Death Eaters arrived on the northern lawn and the rest of us are pushing them back.

_ “Revelum Caligo.” _ His magic poured over the ward, and when the deep runes etched into its surface came into view, they all choked on a breath. Blood ward. 

Overhead, the distant crashing and colliding of spells sounded through the air, and an overwhelming sense of urgency settled around them. James’ eyes locked on Hermione’s, but he spoke just over his shoulder. “Ready, mate?”

Hermione couldn’t  _ breathe _ as the barrage of spells above them seemed to push through the weak ceiling. Steeling his jaw, Sirius mumbled his assent and lifted the tip of his wand to his palm. 

Before he could complete the movement, James’ split his palm open, and he lifted it with a trembling arm, gaze never leaving Hermione’s, not even when Sirius began sending expletives flying at the back of his head. “Get ready to run, you hear me?” He waited for her to nod and then began. “ _ Sanguinem fratris redderet debitum.”  _

As he continued the incantations, Sirius spoke over him. “Before I blow it to bits, duck for cover. Apparition should be open; you two get to safety.” 

“We can’t leave them,” Hermione argued, waving to the cell of Muggles at their backs. “They’ll die.” 

James' eyes shot open, and she could see his strength wavering as the blood syphoned his magic. “You get out. We’ll handle the rest.  _ Now, Padfoot. _ ” Dropping his arm, he fell back and Sirius' wand shot out as the girls clung to each other.

_ “Bombarada!” _

The ward exploded just as James' knees crashed to the stone floor. Hermione rushed to his side, ignoring the impending sounds of battle as she cradled his face in her hands. “James? Love, are you—” 

His eyes fluttered open and he nodded, a weak attempt at a smile twitching his lips. “Never better. Go.” 

“I can’t, not without them. Not without you,” Hermione confessed and pointed her wand at the door of the cell now visible in the light of Marlene’s _Lumos._ _“Alohomora.”_ The door wiggled but remained otherwise unaffected. 

“Hermione…” James warned. 

A spell crashed down the staircase and collided with the stone wall. She jumped to her feet.  _ “Bombarada!”  _ Debris flew through the air, and Hermione rushed through the opening left in the wake of her spell. “Come with me. It’s okay; I’m here to help.” 

Marlene was soon at her side, reaching for a man crumpled in the corner. “Get back to the rendezvous point; the others will know what to do with them.” In a crack of magic, her friend was gone, hauling a Muggle through space. 

The remaining prisoners scrambled away from the sight, and Hermione hushed them and reached for a young woman with a frenzied look on her face. “I’m sorry; you might feel sick.” As soon as she’d made contact with her ankle, Hermione launched them towards the edge of the forest. 

Once there, she took a quick survey of the immediate area and caught sight of Marlene, staring back at the fortress with a slack jaw. 

Hermione heard it before she saw it, but it still didn’t do the scene justice. Vibrant magic coloured the sky, columns of smoke rising from the spires of the castle while Death Eaters and Order members collided on the ground. 

Swallowing once, she caught Marlene’s eyes, and with a small nod, they both Apparated back into the dungeon. Hermione landed next to James, and just as a stream of magic hurtled towards them, she raised her arm.  _ “Protego!” _

The magic rebounded, crashing into the chest of a masked fighter and launching him into the wall. 

James pushed to his feet, swaying where he stood. “Hermione,  _ go! _ ” The chaos in the darkness caused her to pause, and she sucked in a sharp breath as she noticed Sirius and Marlene fighting side by side. 

James’ gaze caught on something, and he whipped around, a wordless spell pushing through his wand and crashing into another Death Eater just as he himself wavered. 

_ “Nice one, James!”  _ Sirius called out, a maniacal grin spreading over his lips as he made his way to the stairs, Marlene hot on his heels. 

“Godamnit, Hermione, get the fuck out of here!”

She scanned the room and nodded, reaching for another prisoner and Disapparating as James screamed another expletive at her. 

She left the fragile man with the other two and headed back. Upon her re-entry, James growled and wrapped his fingers around her arm. “Are you seriously going to keep coming back?”

Baring her teeth, she wrenched her arm back into her own possession. “You’re not my keeper, James. I have to get them to safety.” She rushed for another and felt her magic falter a moment, exhausted by the quick Apparitions. Blinking hard a few times, she focused her magic and made the jump, her knees buckling as she crashed into the damp earth. 

_ Just a moment,  _ she promised herself, clutching at her chest as though her very magic was stored there. 

A loud crack sounded next to her, and she jumped and fell back, eyes wide. 

James was there, the final two prisoners in his grasp. He dropped them unceremoniously, and his eyes rolled back in his skull a moment before he fainted, falling in a heap next to the Muggles he’d just saved.

xXx 

Three major injuries—two minor. One dead Death Eater. One magically exhausted Auror. Six Muggles saved. 

As Hermione sat next to James’ bedside at Longbottom Hall, she ticked through the hard facts of the night before. She hadn’t been able to rest, even after a healer had assured that James would be fine. 

_ Stupid, bloody fool. _ The ward had cost him both blood and magic, and  _ still _ , he continued on. The final Apparition—with two passengers—depleted him entirely. 

Dawn was breaking through her bedroom window and as much as she wanted to climb in next to him, she dared not risk falling asleep. Instead, she alternated between recounting the events of the attack and counting his long breaths—breaths she'd had no idea that she coveted so much until this very moment. 

A quiet voice slid under the door. “Hermione? It’s Alice.” 

Blinking, Hermione turned and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “Come in.” 

With a tight smile, her housemate entered, one hand cradling her swollen belly as she waddled across the room. “Any change?” Hermione shook her head as the other witch stood at the foot of the bed. “He’ll wake soon; the Dreamless Sleep they gave him should wane late morning.” 

Humming, Hermione reached for his hand and blanketed it with her own, too tired to manage a thoughtful response. 

Alice huffed a bit and settled herself into the armchair by the window and begrudgingly, Hermione tore her gaze from her boyfriend. “The Muggles have had their memories altered and have been given to the Magical-Muggle liaison office for replacement. From what we understand, none of them actually had homes or families, so it’s difficult to know where to take them.” 

A dark laugh rumbled from Hermione’s chest, and she settled back in her chair, releasing her hold on James. “That I’m not surprised about. You-Know-Who targeted drifters, people who wouldn’t be missed. He used them to create his army of Inferi.” She paused, mind drifting to the prisoners. “I think that’s why they were being held.” 

Alice hummed her agreement. “It’s the only logical thing we can think of as to why they were holding Muggles there. There was another cellar in the north part of the estate that had a handful more.”

Rage seeped into her bones, and Hermione emptied her lungs in a sharp breath. “What did we accomplish by going there tonight? People were hurt, we alerted You-Know-Who of our presence… Nothing came of it. No Horcrux, no clues.  _ Nothing. _ ” 

“Hermione,” Alice mused, her voice drenched in awe and disbelief, “ _ you _ saved those Muggles. Six humans are alive and free this morning. That’s not nothing. We aren’t going to win this war by killing everything that stands in our way. It’ll come down to it, I know, but… that’s not what the Order stands for. We don’t destroy;  _ we save.”  _

Hermione’s vocal cords failed her as her watery gaze found Alice’s. Despite everything that had happened—everything that was to come—the young mother was brimming with unbridled hope. 

“The phoenix will fall; they’re rather known for it.” Alice laughed. “But they are unique in that they not only rise again, but they are reborn when they do. We rebuild new and stronger— _ better _ . When the phoenix cries, pure magic happens, healing and goodness. The best parts of our world are born from our grief.” 

Swiping away another errant tear, Hermione settled her eyes back on James’ sleeping features. An ember in her belly was gently stoked, and her jaw steeled. “What happens when the phoenix fights back?”

“It sets the world on fire.”

xXx

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope this update finds you well and I’m so appreciative of you for following along. Big thanks to my BritAlphabet, Famulousa, NuclearNik, and Ravenslight. You guys are incredible and I’m so grateful for you!**

**Until next week friends!**


	37. Chapter 37

Longbottom Hall 

July 1980

James’ hand darted out and curled around her knee. It was a silent bid to stop Hermione from violently jerking it around in a fit of anxiety. 

She mouthed a silent,  _ sorry, _ to him just as Augusta Longbottom swept into the kitchen, flicking her wand at the kettle as though it had offended her personally. 

Hermione had quickly learned after the first time she’d asked for an update on Alice—and was sharply reprimanded because  _ of course, _ Augusta would tell her if the child was born—to keep her mouth shut when in the presence of the soon-to-be grandmother. 

Alice had been in labour for nearly twelve hours, though her contractions started sometime yesterday morning. Folding her fingers together around her lukewarm mug, Hermione stared at the weak tea. James Potter was notorious for making a shit cup of tea, never left the bag in long enough and always with too much milk. But he was sweet so she drank it and hid the wince each time.

It was the farthest thing from being important right now but she found she’d fixate on anything to keep her mind busy from the web of details she was still trying to sort out. 

“Gemma!” Augusta’s shrill voice rang through the air. 

Hermione flinched away from the abrupt noise, and the small elf appeared a blink later, eyes wide and eager. 

“Mistress?”

Even though Augusta was twenty years younger, she still looked much the same as she did when Hermione had first met her at St. Mungo's years ago. Her thin eyebrows were forever arched severely and a shade of lipstick that didn’t seem to compliment her complexion very well stained her lips. She’d been friendly then; she was less so now. 

“Please set up a tea service in the sitting room. The healer has requested for us to  _ leave,” _ she said with a pursed mouth, and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of anyone asking Augusta Longbottom to leave a room. “Molly and I will have tea while we wait.” 

Hermione’s heart leapt in her chest, her hand shooting out to James’ and squeezing until her knuckles were white. 

Neville was coming soon. 

The chair next to her scraped against the kitchen floor and James pulled her to standing.“Come on; I’m sure it’ll be a while yet.”

Reluctantly, Hermione obliged and together they made their way onto the back lawn. They walked in silence a while, slowly making their way towards the greenhouse and then past it to the pond tucked away just behind it. 

“Are you okay, love?”

Hermione stopped short of the bank and crossed her arms. Was she? Another friend born, another person she’d never get to know the way she had before. She’d be nearly twenty years his senior, more an aunt than a friend. 

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she dragged in a slow breath, focusing on the feeling of the sun warming her skin and the breeze lifting her curls. The sound of a zip startled her, and she turned to see James already pushing his jeans from his hips, forever without pants. His shirt followed moments later. 

Panic swelled up inside her, and she hissed, turning to crane her neck back towards the estate. “James!”

He grinned and took off towards the water’s edge, jumping off the small wooden dock and disappearing into the water below. When he reemerged, he whipped his hair to the side, sending water droplets skittering across the surface of the pond. 

“Are you going to join me?” he called out, treading water with long rotations of his arms. “The water’s quite nice.” 

“You want me to skinny dip with you in the middle of the afternoon while Molly and Augusta Longbottom are just in the house?” She huffed and shook her head. “You’re mad.” 

“Oh,” he said, his smile stretching to a broad grin. “You’re scared. That’s quite alright. Don’t push yourself—” 

“James…” 

“What?” The word was chased out by a laugh, and the look of joy on his face—the way the sunlight bounced off the sharp planes of his cheeks—destroyed her resolve. 

With a long-suffering sigh, she pulled her shirt over her head and then pushed her shorts down. She left her underwear on and carefully tiptoed to the same location that he’d just jumped off of. 

“Go on!” James cheered from the water. 

A quiet yelp escaped her as she took a step off the edge and plunged into the warm water. Her toes brushed the sandy bottom and she kicked for the surface, nearly barreling into James who was floating over her head. 

He quickly grabbed her around the waist and rearranged her so her legs could lock around his back. 

“I hate seeing you like this,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to the side of her mouth. 

Her lips quirked in a smile and she curled her arms around his neck, fingers twining in his sodden hair. “Almost naked and soaking wet?” 

A laugh rumbled from his chest, and she could feel him gently shake his head. “Stressed. I swear I can hear the gears in your head turning, and don't think I don’t notice that you’re not sleeping.” 

Pressure pushed at her sinuses but she refused to cry. “I can’t explain it, James. Something just feels so off. Why did Remus—” 

“We’ve been over this,” he interrupted gently. “Remus would tell us if something was wrong.” 

“But he  _ said _ to find Lily.” 

James’ hand cradled the back of her skull, slipping into her drenched curls, and before she could replay the same discussion they’d had countless times, he kissed her. Slow at first, tentative. But it quickly deepened, and she responded by dragging him closer, letting him have this small kindness of stealing away her worries for a moment.

His touch drifted to her shoulder, pulling the strap down until it floated on top of the water and then further still as he freed her breast and filled his hand with her. Their tongues met, sweeping over each other as a moan slipped over her tongue. 

Idly she was aware that James had moved them shallow enough that he could touch the bottom. It took them only a moment until he was laying her down on the long grass under the tree and settling between her thighs. 

Water droplets fell from his loose fringe, peppering dots over her chest as he captured her nipple between his lips and gently sucked. Hermione lifted her bum and with his help wiggled her knickers down; she sighed in relief as his cock nudged her entrance. One hand grabbed her behind the knee, opening her wider as he sank into her a slow thrust. Their lips bumped against each other as they shared a low pleasured moan. 

He left a slow trail of kisses over her shoulders and neck as he dragged from inside her and pushed slowly back in again and again, rolling his hips ever so slightly with each thrust. 

Hermione arched and hitched her knees higher, her worries fading as a slow wave of pleasure built deep in her belly. Pulling back slightly, James smirked and wiggled his brows before rolling to the side and pulling her on top. 

She gasped and covered her partially bared breasts. “Someone's going to see me.” 

His features flattened even as he pushed up into her. “No one is coming to the pond to look for you when the Longbottom heir is being born.” 

Her nose wrinkled, and she might have fought it longer but his hands settled over her hips and rolled her over his lap. There was something about the kiss of the sun and the fear of being caught that propelled her forward. She splayed her fingers over his broad chest and began rocking, lifting, and sinking, fucking him until her head had fallen back and she was quite sure even if someone did stumble upon them that she wouldn’t care all that much. 

As Hermione moved, his touch travelled over her body, filling his hands with her bum and breasts, skimming the ladder of her ribs and finally her clit, massaging her until the walls of her sex fluttered and tightened. James came with her, every muscle of his abdomen tightening under her palms as he spilled inside her.

She collapsed over him, dozing off in the warmth of the summer sun and James’ fingers dancing over the notches of her spine.

xXx

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she’d dozed off; she hadn’t been sleeping the past few days since Remus’ sudden departure, and it caught up with her as she lay in James’ arms. 

When she woke, he’d transfigured a light blanket and had draped it haphazardly over her naked body. She blinked a few times and when a snore ripped from his mouth, she shot up, taking the blanket with her. 

“James! We’ve fallen asleep!” 

He mumbled sleepily and reached for her. “We should have done. We should more.” 

Hermione growled and summoned her clothing, searching the grass for her knickers as she yanked her t-shirt over her head. “Get up!” she hissed, throwing his jeans at his face. 

A moment later she was fully dressed and James was slowly pushing his feet into his jeans, pushing his hips up so he could close them carefully over his crotch. “They’re as old as me, you know?”

“What?”

“Frank and Alice. They’re  _ twenty _ and having a baby. Strange, huh?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I suppose wizarding society tends to settle down earlier than Muggles.” 

Smirking, James grabbed his shirt and sat up, pulling it over his head. “I just mean, they’re our age. That could be us.” 

An army of pixies erupted in her belly as her eyes widened at him. “What on earth are you saying?”

“I’m not  _ saying,” _ he said seriously as he rose to take her in his arms. “I’m just... Well I’m asking if those are things you want? From us—from me? Not now or soon... but maybe soon.” 

A torrent of emotion twisted inside her but watching him squirm brought a small smile to her lips, and she brought her hand up to cradle over his stubbled cheek. He placed his own hand over it and turned to kiss her palm before letting out a long breath. 

“I’m in this, Hermione, no matter what happens. You’re it for me.” 

A surprising tear slipped through her lashes and she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “You’re it for me too, James.”

xXx

Neville Francis Longbottom was born at 3:14 in the afternoon on 30th July, 1980. He was an absolute monster of a child at ten pounds and four ounces, and his limbs were packed with roll upon delicious roll. 

In the few days that followed, Hermione visited and helped as much as she could. But as the family of three settled into their new life, Hermione began to feel like an intruder. 

So to combat it, she tucked herself in the corner of the library with a stack of books on restoring magical depletion and the destruction of magical zombies, so to speak. The Inferi were not news to her; she’d known about their existence for a year now and knew that Dumbledore had destroyed them with Fiendfyre but… the Marauders weren’t Albus Dumbledore. 

She had very little information about the cave in her journal, only what Albus had scrawled out before he and Harry had actually gone. He’d died only minutes after returning. 

Harry’s knowledge had been lacking; he knew what had happened and had explained it to her in detail. She had already pulled the memory from her mind and stored it in a vial to be viewed but… she hadn’t been ready to revisit those moments again. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to see Harry and Ron. 

So she settled for replaying it in her mind. Before entering the cave Albus had to offer blood for entry; Hermione assumed from what she had seen of the Marauders and the blood wards that this would be similar. She, Peter, and Marley would be useless. Only James and Sirius would be able to sacrifice, and they would be severely depleted of their magical core for some time after. 

And none of this solved how on earth they’d  _ get _ to the cave. If Regulus wouldn’t take them, then the only other option was Kreacher. Sirius  _ should _ be able to command him, but that was all for naught if it was already after Regulus was presumed dead. They needed to know where Kreacher went and when. 

A gasp tore from her lungs as she shot forward from her corner of the couch, her eyes darting around the room and settling on nothing as the tendrils of a thought stitched together. She pulled her wand free. 

_ “Expecto Patronum.”  _ Wisps of blue magic formed an orb before her, her thoughts too scattered for a full corporeal. “Sirius, come to headquarters as soon as you can.” With a flick of her wrist, the orb darted through the wall in search of the eldest Black brother. 

She blinked rapidly, staring at the Floo with bated breath. Perhaps five minutes later, Sirius Black stomped through the grate, tossing his ebony hair from his brow. 

“Kitten?” 

Rushing to her feet, she let out a sharp, disbelieving breath as her brows pitched towards her hairline. “I have an idea.” 

xXx

Sirius was now seated, staring at the empty floo with his fingers steepled over his lips. “Say it again.” 

“A tracking spell on Kreacher. It’s not the ideal route, of course. Hopefully, Regulus will come to us but if he doesn’t, if Kreacher leaves the house, you would know. We could  _ at least _ get to the cave if the worse—” 

“If my brother dies.” His gaze didn’t waver as his brows tugged tightly together, wrinkling his brow. 

“We can only hope that won’t happen. He might still—” 

“It’s fine, Hermione.” The use of her given name crashed into her, and she could feel his pain as clearly as her own. “I know. So, you need me to go get to Kreacher and get a tracking spell on him.” He snorted and dragged a calloused hand over his face. “Have you ever cast one? It’s not a tickle charm, and I doubt he’s still faithful to me… He could tell Reg.” 

Gnawing on her lip, Hermione grabbed at the edges of her thought, desperately trying to bring it back together. “I don’t know, Sirius… If we know when Kreacher goes, we can go. We can wait for Regulus; we can save him. This is our chance to get the Horcrux  _ and _ save your brother.” 

The moment stretched on a minute, and Sirius dragged his tongue over his teeth and nodded sharply. “I’ll handle it.” 

“Do you need me to—” 

“No.” His grey gaze snapped to hers. “You’ve done enough; I’ve got this.” He sighed, long and hard. “Guess it’s time to see Walburga.” 

xXx

Hermione and Gemma made dinner and had some sent up to the Longbottom’s master suite all whilst she avoided Augusta’s hard glare as she moved freely about the Hall. 

After dinner she retired to her room with a book from her stack earlier about the properties of one’s magical core. For as much as Hermione studied and learned, the concept of a magical signature, unique and finite, was still something she didn’t fully understand. 

She’d seen the effects of a depleted core; she’d felt it before. 

The worst case scenarios kept chasing across her mind. Remus would never be able to make it to the cave; Peter could quite possibly be working and unable to get away at a moment’s notice. If Sirius and James had to weaken their cores  _ entering _ the cave, it could leave Hermione and Marley—and quite possibly Hermione alone—to summon a boat, drink the cursed liquid, and somehow cast and fight fiendfyre as they fought their way out. 

She shook her head and tied her hair up on the crown of her head as she read another passage. Her eyes caught on a single word:  _ binding. _

Shifting straighter, she read the passage for the second time. 

_ It is rumoured some artifacts can store magic to be tapped into when the core has been exhausted.  _

_ Another method of replenishing what has been spent is with the binding of magical cores. When bound, they are strengthened, and with common incantations and physical touch, the magic can be fortified.  _

Binding. 

A memory from the Selwyn wedding flittered to the front of her consciousness, James lips brushing the shell of her ear as ethereal blue magic wrapped its way around the bride and groom. 

_ Not every couple does it,  _ he’d said. _ It’s a bit archaic, honestly, but the spell binds their magic; they’re linked. It’s like claiming your own soulmate—they’re yours forever.”  _

Her jaw fell open. 

_ Binding. _

“Hoot!” A sharp rapping followed against her window, and Hermione cried out, scrambling off the bed and falling on the floor ungracefully. 

Cursing the damn bird, she opened the window and retrieved the missive, sagging in disappointment when she recognized her own penmanship on the envelope. Another returned letter from Lily; she wasn’t even bothering to read the damned things. 

Her features pulled into a frustrated snarl, and she crumpled the paper in her fist and then threw it at the wall. The owl was off into the night, uncaring that he had brought her such rubbish news. 

Rage layered on top of her despair as memories of Remus pleading for her to find Lily and Dumbledore questioning the prophecy flooded her mind. She was out of options. 

She grabbed her wand roughly from the end table and focused her energy on the feeling of James' arms, his lips pressed into her temple as he whispered how much he loved her. “ _ Expecto Patronum.”  _

Her otter burst forward, skittering around the room before pausing midair and cocking its head at her. “Lily, I need to speak to you immediately. It’s about Harry.” 

She flicked her wrist, and her otter scampered away into the night. It would be for nothing; Lily had clearly washed her hands of the lot of them. But the more Hermione pulled at the loose threads of the problems at hand, the less made sense. 

It couldn’t be Neville; not unless the Longbottoms had somehow defied Voldemort three times. 

She could feel her mind unravelling. The cave. The bindings. Lily.  _ Harry. _

Angry, confused tears fell down her cheeks, and she stifled a sob against the back of her hands as she realized how fast everything could become so utterly and epically fucked. 

Succumbing to the tears, she fell onto her side and curled in on herself, crying quietly until sleep overtook her, and she drifted off into the darkness of unconsciousness. 

xXx

Bright blue burned into her vision and she blinked awake, recognizing the small orb of a non-corporeal Patronus hovering over her. 

Hermione shot up, her chest heaving. 

“Come alone, Hermione. 27 Gerrity Street, Flat 9. London.”

Three breaths. That’s all she allowed herself before she tugged on some joggers and gripped her wand. She rushed from the house and past the wards, turning in on herself as soon as she was free of the wards and rushing for London. 

xXx

**A/N: *ducks and runs for cover*** **  
** **  
** **Apologies for the cliffy, mates. Forgive me?**

**I’ll see you next week with maybe an answer or two! Thanks as always to my British Alphabet! Farmulousa, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik. Y’all are my queens. Mwah!** **  
**   
  


  
  



	38. Chapter 38

North London

August 1980

This part of London wasn’t exactly where a girl might hope to end up completely alone and near midnight.

But Hermione stood stoically still at the street corner, staring at the small window flooded with golden light on the third floor of the building across the street. She wasn’t actually sure if that was the right flat, but she fixated on it nonetheless.

Never in her life had she felt such warring emotions. 

Of course she wanted Harry to be born— _of course._ There was no universe where Hermione wouldn’t want and fight for the existence of her best friend, no matter the timeline or circumstances. 

But with that came innumerable complications. She’d grieved him. She’d said goodbye and said her piece that the world would never see his smile or the way his snark could rival even Snape's. 

After she’d grieved, she’d fallen in love. 

A hot, heavy pressure settled on her chest as unwelcome tears rimmed her lashes because against all her good sense, she’d gone and fallen for that ridiculous, impossible man that very well may have a son in that flat. A son he would love very much. 

A son he might leave Hermione for. 

Shaking her head free of the conflicted thoughts battling for dominance inside her, she crossed the street. 

xXx

Merlin, she was a coward. That’s exactly what she was. Staring at the door knocker and only able to hear the hammering of her own heart against bone. 

Ignorance had been bliss. 

Ignorance had brought her love and happiness, and for that she would always be grateful. 

With a final steadying breath, she knocked on the door. 

Inside, she could hear the creaking of floorboards and a light flicked on; she could tell by the way it reached under the crack of the door.

It’d been nearly a year since she’d knocked on the flat of 4B over Darwin Street in search of Marlene McKinnon and Lily Evans. 

Everything had changed since then. 

She counted breaths. One. Two. Three. Fo— 

The door opened, and Lily stood with her face in shadows and the light illuminating her from behind. Her face was stern, jaw hard and gaze unyielding. She took a step out and looked up and down the hall before nodding for Hermione to enter. 

Quietly pressing the door shut, Lily turned to Hermione, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “I haven’t asked for much, Hermione. All I wanted was to leave that world behind me, and I have. I know it’s not easy for you all to understand but—” 

“Lily,” Hermione breathed, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Did you have a baby three days ago?”

The other witch’s throat bobbed, her jaw steeling harder. “No.” 

_Liar._

And not the first time because she’d lied all those months ago in the Leaky Cauldron as well. 

“I need you to tell me the truth—” 

“Hermione, I _am_ telling you the truth. No matter how much of a fuss you make—” 

Baring her teeth, Hermione refused to be lied to for another moment. 

“You-Know-Who knows about him. He _knows_ , Lily. And on October 31st, 1981, he comes to kill him. He doesn’t succeed, but only because you sacrifice yourself first. You do this moments after James is slaughtered in the hall. Harry grows up without family, living in Petunia and Vernon’s cabinet under the stairs. He’s beaten and starved and—” 

“That’s enough.” 

“He loses his entire childhood. Every moment from the time he turns eleven is marked as he gets closer to his death and if we don’t—” 

“I said that’s enough!” Lily’s voice bellowed through the tiny flat, and Hermione nearly choked on a sob, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. 

“Please let me help save you. Let me save him, too.” 

Lily didn’t move for a long time. The only way Hermione could tell she’d not been petrified were the slow blinks of her eyes and the steady rise and fall of her chest. 

Finally, with a tear streaking down her cheek, she turned down the hall. Hermione’s features pulled tight, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand just to keep her haggard sobs from spilling free. 

A million memories thrashed in her mind. Of Harry… of James. Those were nothing to the dreams she’d stupidly allowed herself to cling to. Dreams of herself and James in Potter Cottage with babies… forever. 

Hermione focused on her breath as she turned, fresh emotion bubbling to the site at the impossibly small, black-haired baby in Lily’s arms. 

A sob tore from her lips, part relieved, part pained, and she covered her mouth with trembling fingers. 

“Hermione, this is Harry James Evans.” 

Hermione’s unexpected laugh filled the air, and she wrinkled her nose at the new name. “It’s Harry James in the future as well, but you had already been married to James by the time you have him. He’s a Potter.” 

“Would you—” Lily’s chin tilted ever so slightly. “Would you like to hold him?”

A genuine, albeit sad, smile pulled on her lips. “Very much.” 

Lily nodded towards a lumpy little sofa and Hermoine took a spot in the corner, her arms already forming a cradle. When Harry was deposited in her arms, she felt a piece of herself settle into place. She’d thought it might feel like a glass shard, but it felt like home. 

Hermione shushed Harry and grinned down at him. “Merlin, he looks so much like… Well, like him.” She laughed. “Which I know is a preposterous thing to say, but it’s true. 

In the time since she’d revealed Harry, Lily had seemed to soften some. She reached over, running the back of her knuckle down his chubby little cheek, and when Hermione stole a glance at her, she could see the unconditional love in her eyes for him. A love that Hermione knew could span death and decades. 

Blinking away tears, she returned her gaze to the baby in her arms. “He’s smaller than the other boys.” 

“Other boys?” 

“Oh! Molly had Ron in March; he’s a few months old now and fatter than ever. And Neville was born just the day before Harry.” 

Lily sat back, and Hermione shifted so she could face her more properly. “Neville?” 

Smiling, Hermione said, “It’s how I knew that you might be pregnant. Alice told me she was pregnant—” 

_“Alice?”_ Joy mixed with confusion and regret twisted Lily’s beautiful features. 

“Yes. Alice and Frank gave birth to Neville Longbottom on July 30th. When she told me she was pregnant back in December it’s why I thought—well, that doesn’t matter now.” 

The air between them shifted; she could see it in Lily’s eyes as her features set back into a serious stare. “You said you needed to see me about Harry’s safety. I think it’s time you tell me.” 

xXx

Hermione did. She told her everything that happened in the now non-existent timeline, about Peter’s betrayal and Sirius’ wrongful imprisonment. She told her about the prophecy and that up until recently it was believed that the child named could have been either Neville _or_ Harry. 

But to the best of their knowledge, the Longbottoms had not defied Voldemort three times. Only the would-be Potters had. 

Lily, to her credit, remained mostly calm; she grimaced as Hermione described the torture of the Longbottoms. She cried when she told her how the Potters died to protect Harry. 

“I don’t know how You-Know-Who would know but…” Hermione gnawed on her lip a moment. “I think he does, Lily. Is there anyone who could have told him?”

There was a spot on the corner that Lily now seemed transfixed on, her eyes glazed over. “No. There’s no one. It’s just been me.”

“We need to get you and Harry into hiding—” 

“Hah! Lot of good it did us where you’re from.” Her voice was void of any emotion at all. 

“I know Peter now, and he wouldn’t do that.” 

“Oh, he wouldn’t? That’s brilliant because Peter is the same bloke today that I’ve known since I was eleven. So obviously something happens in the next year where he turns on us. And you’ve not _done_ anything since you’ve been back. Everything is still happening the way it was supposed to!”

“It’s not! You and James—” 

Lily scoffed and rose quickly to her feet. “You’re choosing to focus on _one_ thing and not the many that are still happening all around us. One thing that wouldn’t have even ever happened if fucking Remus—” Her voice had escalated to a shout, and Harry stirred in Hermione’s arms, rooting around for his mother. 

“Shit,” Lily cursed and quickly reached for him. Once he was in her arms again, Lily quickly calmed, shushing him and rocking him gently back and forth. “I’m sorry, my love. Mummy isn't angry.”

As Lily calmed her newborn, Hermione could do little but just stare at them, imagining a life that might have been for Harry if not for all this mess. A life she hoped she could give him still. 

“We’ll be safe here, Hermione. You don’t have to worry about us. I’ve warded us and we are hidden in the Muggle world.” 

“Please let me help you.” 

Lily sagged a bit, exhaustion evident in the slump to her shoulders. “I’ll think about it. I’ll owl you. Okay?” 

Sucking in a hard breath, Hermione rose to her feet. “I have to tell James, Lil—” 

“Absolutely not,” the other witch bit out, taking a hard step towards Hermione. 

“I have to. He’s my—we’re together.” Her heart slowed, an ache settling into her chest that she was sure she’d never shake off. “I’m in love with him. I can’t keep this from him.” 

With a trembling jaw, Lily studied the ceiling, fighting off tears. “If you do that, it will change everything.” 

After a moment, Hermione smiled weakly. “I know… I hope it does.” 

xXx

Hermione sat on the shitty little stairs outside of the Marauder house, gnawing on her nails and praying for sunrise. 

Sleep was impossible; she hadn’t even tried. 

Instead her mind raced with everything and nothing at all. She stared out at the horizon and without her knowledge, hours passed. 

The soft pop of Apparition beyond the wards shattered her heart. Her chin instinctively tucked into her chest as another round of tears burst free. 

“Hermione?” James' voice was drenched in concern as he rushed to her side, sliding into the dirt at her feet. “What happened? Are you hurt? Did—” 

Even as sobs wracked through her body, she shook her head, nails leaving crescent marks in his forearms as she tried in vain to keep the frail pieces of her heart together. “I’m okay.” 

“No,” he laughed humorlessly. “You really are not. Let’s get you inside.” 

She must have truly looked a fright for him to say that. Her eyelids were swollen, cheeks probably blotchy and bloated. And when he tried to tug her to her feet, she pulled away sharply from him. 

“I have to tell you something.” 

“You’re scaring me, love.” 

“I don’t know how to—” Another sob stole the words from her lips, and she wanted to crumble in defeat. Her face was contorted in pain, and her muscles ached from the sheer work of crying so hard. 

“Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.” He still stood a few paces away, staring at her with that look. The one that told her she was the center of his universe. But she wouldn’t be for long. “I love you and you love me. No matter what it is, we’ll—” 

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. “Lily had a baby three days ago.” 

She couldn’t bear to look at him, instead studying the scuff on his boots with great interest. 

“What’d you say?”

“I found her—found Lily.” Summoning every ounce of courage she had, she looked at the love of her life, standing across from her with disbelief painted over his handsome features. “She gave birth to Harry James Evans three days ago on the 31st of July” She bit into her lip to keep from it twisting into more blubbering. “He has your hair.” 

James scoffed. “That’s not possible.” 

“It is, James. I saw him. He’s yours, and for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to love—” 

He silenced her with a hard wave of his hand. “Don’t.” 

The endless strain of the last eight hours was too much to bear. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of it all, and she felt the exhaustion like a heavy blanket over her shoulders. “Do you want me to take you to her—to them?”

“We don’t even know if he’s mine, Hermione! I can’t…” He panicked. “I’m not ready to be a dad.” 

Faster than she thought possible, she was rushing into his arms, cradling his cheeks and wiping the stray tears before they buried in his beard. “Of course you are. You’re James Potter; you can do anything.” 

One of his hands closed around her wrist, and he turned to press a kiss to her palm. “I want to have babies with _you_.” 

She couldn’t help but smile. “Well, let’s get you to this one first, yeah?”

For a long moment, he stared at her, hands now cradling her cheeks. She wanted to memorise every bit of this when they stood on the precipice of change. Not yet. Then he kissed her, one arm travelling to her waist as he pulled her closer. 

When their lips parted, he rested his forehead against hers. “I’m in love with you. Nothing changes that. You are the most important thing to me.” 

She wanted to believe him, truly. Nothing in the world would have made her happier, but as they climbed the steps to Lily’s flat and knocked on the door, Hermione could almost feel the strings that bound them shift.

And when James saw Harry, his eyes lit up with pure, unadulterated love and disbelief. She knew she was no longer the most important thing to James Potter. 

At least she’d been able to see what it looked like when he saw his first child for the first time, even if it wasn’t with her. 

xXx

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	39. Chapter 39

August 1980

Longbottom Hall 

Mandrakes. 

Six fledgling little Mandrakes. 

  
Their babies, he’d joked. She snorted and wiped frantically at the traitorous tears on her cheeks. It was a happy occasion. Babies being born, especially her very best friend, was something to celebrate. If only that knowledge did something to stave off the ache in her chest. 

As she tended to the Mandrakes, she thought over the past months, trying to pinpoint when she’d made her mistakes. There was no timelinewhen she could plausibly consider loving James Potter a mistake. It had been the single greatest pleasure of her life thus far. 

That night at Lily’s, she’d quietly excused herself and let Harry and James get to know each other privately. Each step away from him felt like a splintering in her heart but she didn’t let it slow her. Her pain was worth their happy moment. 

For the greater good and all that. 

It’d been seventy-six hours since she’d left James at Lily’s, and the communication between them had been relatively silent. She knew he was in his rotation with the Auror office and was likely helping Lily with Harry when he wasn’t sleeping. 

She refused to reach out to him. Now more than ever, James needed to think clearly about what his new life looked like and how he could best provide support—and possibly a family—to Lily and Harry. Hermione would only complicate matters. And of all the things she wanted to be to James Potter, a complication was simply not one of them. 

So she tended to the Mandrakes and the rest of the plants. She helped with Neville when she could and made sure everyone was fed—though Molly was very on top of that herself—and she brewed until her eyes were so heavy she had no choice but to pass out face down on her mattress. 

But Merlin, she missed him. In every thing she did, every moment she was awake and forcing her mind elsewhere, she missed him. 

Blinking away the tears that still fell freely from her lashes, she knelt in the dirt and worked tirelessly at the garden bed. 

“Hermione!” She jumped at the sudden sound of Peter’s voice in the greenhouse. Reeling, she found him skidding to a stop on the packed earth, his eyes wild with distress. “We’ve got to go.” 

Anxiety twisted in her gut as she scrambled to his feet. “Is it James?” 

“What? No, no.” He shook his head, catching his breath, and then settled his serious stare on her. “I’ve got James’ cloak though, and we’ve got to get you into Gringotts now. I don’t know when we’ll get another chance.” 

“Peter, what are you talking about?”

“The Lestrange vault is 711 and after my break—which ends in thirteen minutes—I’m meant to be working in vault 713 doing archival work. You can come with me, take the key and sneak into 711. That skeleton key is our only chance getting in without a goblin on hand. Furthermore, they won’t be able to prove anyone entered because my magical signature will remain firmly in the correct room but we need to go now.” 

“We can’t just break into Gringotts, Pete! We need a plan and backup—” 

“That’s not an option. If you want in that vault, it’s now or never.” Peter lifted the invisibility cloak between them, and without further thought, Hermione grabbed it and draped it over her shoulders. 

“Just tell me what to do.” 

xXx

The cart rattled along the tracks as they descended quickly into the bowels of Gringotts. Peter had finally seemed to relax, and she only wished she could also. 

“I’m going to stop the cart in front of 713,” he said in a low voice from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll unlock my door, and you should  _ Accio  _ the key when I pause before I enter. My work won’t take long, maybe twenty minutes. Be fast and get back to the cart and wait for me there. Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t cast magic in the vault.”

She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. Vaults doors blurred as they rocketed forward, her stomach lurching at a particularly steep drop. Anxiety mixed with bile inched up her throat, and she tried to focus on the hammering of her heart to slow it down and steady her magic. 

The cart halted sharply, and she released a quiet huff at the sudden lurch. Peter took a single, long breath and exited the car. Hermione followed suit, her steps careful and precise as she turned to the right and headed for the vault two doors up.

The clicking of the lock on vault 713 echoed against the stone, and she gripped her wand. Peter paused, as he said he would, and she flicked her wrist and cast  _ Accio _ as quietly as possible. 

Without pause, the key shot from his open hand, and she snuck out her free hand to catch it. 

Peter nodded and disappeared in the vault. 

Her breath came quickly, her hands trembling slightly from excess adrenaline as she pressed the key to the center of the door and freed its lock. 

Through a barely-there opening in the door, Hermione edged in, remaining under the cloak. The vault was vast, coins and heirlooms stuffed into every space imaginable. A chill skittered up her spine as she eyed the ornate bronze masks that lined the wall. Generations of wizards who had found the need to hide their faces. 

She cursed under her breath as she began directly to her right, eyes roving each glittering golden trinket she could see. Minutes ticked by as she made her way around the room, and she could feel the familiar thrum of magic in her arm, begging to be used. 

“Surely just one,” she mumbled to herself.  _ “Accio Cup.”  _

No sooner than the magic had left her wand than she could feel the oppressive blanket of a ward—a ward she’d just breached. “Fucking hell,” she cursed and began rushing through the room, kicking at items on the floor. Whatever time she’d had left had most likely just been severely compromised. 

She felt sick from the surge of adrenaline, her senses painfully heightened as she continued her search. And then, just as she was about to burn the bloody place down, her eyes caught on a small golden chalice. It was smaller than she’d imagined—for some reason she’d pictured something akin to the Goblet of Fire—but it was there on a small table surrounded by dull artefacts. 

A disbelieving breath pushed from her lungs, and she rushed to it. She lifted it from its home and then promptly hissed at the dark magic billowing off its surface. Turning it in her hands, her gaze caught on the thinly etched name on the curve of the cup. 

**HELGA HUFFLEPUFF**

A grin stretched over her lips, and she turned to leave, pausing in her tracks as a very large—and very real—issue presented itself. The ward. They’d likely know someone had been here and if they looked for a missing item and found the Horcrux gone, it would ruin everything. 

Lifting her face to the ceiling, she growled in frustration and then returned the cup to where it had been. With a shrug, she removed the cloak and pointed her wand at the Horcrux. “ _ Geminio _ .” 

From the tip of her wand clattered a nearly identical cup. Voldemort would know; Bellatrix likely would as well by the lack of black magic residing in its metal, but it was her only option. 

She retrieved the original and shoved it in her charmed bag before pulling the Invisibility Cloak firmly over her head again. 

Once safely inside the cart, she placed the key on the seat next to her and then counted her breaths to pass the time. Incredulity rushed through her veins; she had another Horcrux. She’d bloody done it. 

A proud grin tugged at her cheeks, and despite all the shit that the last few days had been, she finally felt joy again. 

The door to vault 713 opened and Peter exited, his eyes sharply trained on the parchment in front of him. “Are you here?” he said quietly. 

“Yes.” 

Peter summoned the key, locked the door, and sat next to her in the cart. “Well?”

“I got it,” she whispered, nudging him with her elbow. 

“Thatta girl. Don’t come out from under the cloak for any reason,” he said as the cart began to roll. “ I don’t want anyone to see you, just in case.” 

Peter made two more short stops, depositing items, and then began the slow climb back up to the main floor of the bank. She wanted to rip the cloak from her head and skip down Diagon, but she remained under strict instruction and stuck close to Peter’s side. 

After stopping quickly at his desk, he said a short good bye to his supervisor and then grabbed his cloak, ticking his head towards the entrance. 

They’d bloody made it. Merlin, she’d been wallowing and crying to a bunch of teenage Mandrakes and Richard for days, but thanks to Peter Pettigrew, she now had another Horcrux. 

Once in the main chamber of the bank, they both abruptly stopped short at the shrill screech echoing off the stone walls. 

“I demand entry to my vault!” 

The goblin who was on the receiving end of her ire, rolled his eyes and Bellatrix Lestrange came into view.. “Mrs. Lestrange, the bank is closed. You may have access to your vault as early as nine o’clock in the—” 

“Listen to me, you insolent little monster.” Her lips pulled back, showing perfectly white teeth set into a snarl. 

“Now, now, Bella.” Hermione’s blood ran cold, and she took a step further to see Lucius Malfoy at her side. “It won’t do to insult the,” he paused, sniffing,  _ “man.”  _

“My wards were breached in my vault, and unless someone takes me down there instantly, I will start hexing the lot of you.  _ NOW! _ ” 

“Rowena’s rack, Hermione. Tell me you didn’t use magic in that blasted vault.” Peter hissed with his chin tucked low.    
  
Hermione’s face twisted in contrition. “I’m so sorry, Peter… I didn’t have a choice.”

_ “Fucking hell.” _

With a long-suffering sigh, the goblin snapped his fingers. “Where is Pettigrew?”

Next to her, Peter tensed. “Yes sir?”

“Oh, are you done for the day?” The teller asked as both Bellatrix and Lucius turned, their brows arched in matching disdainful expressions. 

“Isn’t that the little shit who runs around with those other degenerates?” Bellatrix said with a disgusted snort. 

Lucius' eyes narrowed, and even though Hermione knew very well that she was hidden, she’d never felt so exposed. “That he is.” 

“It was him!” Bellatrix’s long finger pointed in their direction. “Of course he’d want into my vault. Probably emptied it, the little criminal.” 

The goblin snapped his fingers again, and a parchment materialized. “Mister Pettigrew’s magical signature gained entry to five vaults total today. 104, 347, 713, 765, and 423 just moments ago. It is not possible that he entered your vault.” 

“Of course it is!”

The parchment furled in on itself and then promptly disappeared. “Mrs. Lestrange, I assure you that we take your security seriously, but no one entered your vault. As stated, you may enter your vault as early as nine o’clock.” 

Lucius’ gaze never wavered, and when he took the first step towards them, Peter coughed in his hand. 

“Wait for me at the Apparition point,” Peter said so quietly, she almost didn’t catch it. Don’t come out from under the cloak. I’ll signal before I Apparate.  _ Go. _ ”

Hermione wasted no time, stopping short on the heels of someone so she could sneak out. She paused just outside the door, watching as Lucius smiled at Peter and clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

Her friend gave Lucius a half-smile and nodded along as the man spoke. Hermione couldn’t help but feel uneasy as she watched the two of them. If Lucius bleeding Malfoy touched a single hair on his head, she’d have his bollocks in a jar. 

Shaking her head, she turned for the Apparition point. 

xXx

She waited for close to half an hour before Peter arrived, his cheeks slightly flushed. He nodded to someone on the street and then planted his feet. “Grab on.” 

As soon as her fingers closed around his forearm they were rocketing across England. They landed on the lawn of Longbottom Hall, and she pulled the cloak off her head and reeled on him. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing!” Peter choked out a laugh. “He just made bullshit small talk and said if I ever needed a job…” He rolled his eyes. “Did you really fucking get it?” 

Biting into her lip, Hermione reached elbow deep into her bag and pulled free the small, palm sized chalice. “I really got it!” 

“You’re bloody brilliant!” Peter’s arms locked around her waist, and they both laughed as he picked her up and spun her. 

When he set her back down, she faltered briefly, her hands resting on his forearms as she squealed. “No, you are. Thank you! Truly.” They turned for the house. “I don’t know what we would've—” 

Before she’d made it a full step, the words stuck in her throat and she choked on a sharp inhale. 

Sitting on the steps of the back porch, watching them, was James Potter. She sucked in a shaky breath and felt the joy in heart crumble to dust.

“Well this is gonna be awkward…” Peter mumbled. “Think I can leave and he won’t notice?”

Hermione snorted. “Fat chance, Peter. You’re not sending me to the gallows alone.” 

Gripping his shirt, she dragged him along with her, their feet doing a sad little shuffle across the grass as though they were walking to detention in the Forbidden Forest. The pair stopped short of the stairs as James rose to his feet. 

His expression was unreadable, lost somewhere between grief and resignation with maybe a twinge of jealousy. But Hermione understood; her own feelings were a tangled web she couldn’t quite make sense of. 

“You two look like you’re up to no good,” James said, his voice distant. 

“Just a bit.” Peter laughed and nudged Hermione. “Your girl did good, Prongs.” 

James’ brow tugged tight, his lips thinning. “I’ve no doubt. Do you think I could talk to Hermione alone, Pete?”

With a half smile, Peter nodded. “Of course. See you both later.” Hermione caught his remorseful grimace as he turned to cross the lawn again. 

“I—” The words caught in her throat as she tried to form a thought. In defeat, her shoulders sagged. “I’ve got to put this in the safe.” 

“Another Horcrux,” he said, rocking back on his heels. She couldn’t remember a time when things had been so tense between them; even when they’d been fighting it’d been more natural than this. _They_ were more natural than this.   
  


“Freshly plucked from Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. It’s a long story…” 

“Can we talk when you’re done?” 

Hermione's heart seized in her chest. She wasn’t all that well versed in romance, but she knew the sadness in his tone, could feel the inevitable shattering in her heart. 

“Sure. You can go up to my room—” She stopped, eyes clenching. If he was going to dump her, maybe she didn’t want to be in her room, at his mercy for when he decided to leave. “Or the pond?”

But then visceral memories of their last real day together at the pond floated through her mind. Of slick skin and kisses and moments she was sure she’d never get to relive, and she flinched away from them. 

“I’ll wait in your room.” 

With a tight smile, Hermoine led the way into the house and veered for the safe as James climbed the stairs, each step heavy and downtrodden. 

Inside the charmed safe were the pieces to Voldemort’s downfall. An uncomfortable thought pressed upon her that as she worked towards victory and with Harry now here, all that she’d done wouldn’t be for naught. 

At the end of it all, she’d come back to save the world, not herself. To make sure Harry lived and thrived and the world never knew the future she’d seen. 

Harry could still have it all, even if she couldn’t. 

xXx 

In her room, James was sitting on the edge of her bed, hands tucked under his thighs as he studied the floral pattern of her rug. 

“Hi,” she said lamely, shutting the door quietly behind her and then casting a silencing charm. Alice and Neville didn’t need to hear her cry. 

When he finally looked up at her, his eyes were waterlogged, and even as he tried to force a smile on his lips, she could see the way his jaw trembled. She didn’t think twice as she crossed the room and settled into his side, his arm instinctually wrapping around her shoulders. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, her words muffled by his shirt. 

“I’m so sorry, Hermione...” 

It hurt. Gods, it hurt. It stole the very breath from her lungs and as much as she wanted to cling to him, her self preservation drove her away. 

She sniffed and tilted her chin high. “It’s okay, James. I understand and would never want to be the cause of strife for you and your family.”

She couldn’t bear to look at him and as a few tears spilled forward, she thought this might be the moment that broke her irreparably. 

“Wait, what?”

“I knew when I found Lily that this was the inevitable outcome. So don’t worry about hurting me or any such nonsense; I’m a big girl… We can be friends.” The treacherous words felt like a knife between her ribs. “We’ll always be friends.” 

“Are—are you breaking up with me?” 

Confusion washed over her, and her gaze snapped to his, finding his jaw clenched but his eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

Hermione blinked. “You have a family now and—” 

Reaching for her, James brought her hands up to his chest, staring at her as if for this single moment she was the center of the universe. The gentle thrumming of his heart against her fingertips filled her with foolish hope.

_ “You _ are my family, Hermione. You and the boys and Marley and, yes, Lily and Harry. But you are too. Harry doesn’t change that, even if he changes a great many things right now; he doesn’t change what you mean to me.” His hand curled around her cheek. “I know I come with significantly more baggage all of a sudden and if it’s too much for you, I… I can accept that, I think.” 

Fresh tears coated her cheeks, and she huffed out a humorless laugh. “James…” 

“Let me just get this out…” His lashes kissed his cheeks, and when he settled his gaze on her again, she could see the burn in his hazel eyes. The fire that she knew to be intrinsically Potter. “Hermione, I already told you, you’re it for me. In case I haven’t made it glaringly obvious, I  _ need _ you to know that. Harry is here, and the fact that I’m a father is fucking crazy, I know. And I know it’s a lot to ask from you, but I’m in love with you. I want you to choose to love me even though everything is so complicated.”

Her features pinched, and a quiet sob pushed free. “I don’t know how I fit into your new life, James. This is so  _ much _ .” 

“I know,” he reassured her, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I know it’s a bloody mess, but I’ll figure it out. I promise. Just let me try to have you and Harry, too… Please.” 

Her heart pained at the desperation in his voice, and without another thought, she burrowed back into his side. 

She’d no idea how on earth he could make this work with a war going on, but she’d learned a time or two not to underestimate a Potter. 

xXx

**A/N: SEE TASHAAAA. Barely any angst lol surely I’ve put you through worse than that ;) haha** **  
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** **Thanks for reading my dear friends! I hope you’re enjoying the story and want to say thanks for following it these past few months. As crazy as it seems, there are only 2 more chapters in part 1! Don’t worry (Tasha) I will not leave you in an angst pool lol It’s a really good breaking point, wraps her the first part of journey and we will kick off with Pt 2 for 1981** **  
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** **Endless thanks to my BritAlphaBet: Farmulousa, Ravens Light, and Nuclear Nik. It’s a big time for everyone and these lovelies take time out of every week for me! I’m forever grateful.** **  
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** **Have a lovely week, darlings!**


	40. Chapter 40

Longbottom Hall 

August 1980

James trailed his finger along the dip above her navel, gently tracing the valley between her breasts as he stared down at her. “I can’t believe you got another Horcrux.”

“Neither can I,” Hermione said from the corner of her mouth. “And yet somehow, breaking into Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault and stealing a part of You-Know-Who’s soul isn’t the craziest thing that’s happened this week.” 

The smirk playing on the edge of his lips couldn’t hide the sadness lingering in his countenance. 

“How’s Harry?” She could see the tension settle over him like a blanket, and his gaze quickly fell to the quilt between them. “It’s okay, James. You can talk to me about it. If you—” Pausing, she took a sobering breath. “If  _ we _ want this to work we’ll have to eventually.”

“I know,” he said, brows tugging together. After another moment, he closed his fingers around her wrist and lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on her pulse point before speaking. “He’s… Well, he’s a baby. I don’t really know what to do with a baby.” 

“Well, that’s alright. I wouldn’t either. Is Lily—” 

His features screwed to one side, and he dropped his head to his chest. “This is weird.” 

He wasn’t wrong, but Hermione didn’t know any other way than to push through; she could read books on parenting for him and prepare lists for him. She could ask Molly and Alice. But after that, for the first time in a long while, Hermione felt utterly useless. 

  
Reaching for the blankets, she drew them up over her chest and scooted up to sit. “We just need boundaries.” 

“Boundaries?”

“Yes, we need to know what’s okay to talk about. It’s only uncomfortable because we don’t know the parameters of this new dynamic.” 

James flopped on his back, hair falling over his brow as he smiled up at her. She’d missed it, that broad smile that wrinkled the skin around his eyes. “You want to logic your way out of this?” 

“Yes.” 

The bed shook with his quiet chuckle, and he pulled one arm behind his head, his lean muscles stretching as he did. “Okay, love. Let’s put that brain of yours to use.” 

“Do you want to talk about Harry?”

James considered it. “Yes.” 

“Do you want to talk about Lily?”

His hazel gaze rolled up to meet hers. “Not especially.” 

Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, Hermione fought with the very clear boundary he’d just laid out for her. “I’d like to be able to tell you how I feel and my fears at least once. Just so I can say I’ve said my piece. Then I will do my best not to bring it up again.” 

Concern flashed over James’ features as he pushed up on his elbows. “Fears?”

The back of her eyes stung with pent up pressure, and the breath she forced through her nose was jagged and broken. “I’m worried you’re going to wake up one of these days and realise you’d rather be with the mother of your child. And that’s—that’s how it should be, but I’d rather just be let go of now. I’d rather you just get on with it so as not to prolong my agony.” 

“Hermione,” he breathed, one hand coming up to cradle her cheek, “I love you, and I mean this in the kindest way possible, but that’s fucking crazy.” 

Tears coated her cheeks as she barked out a laugh. “Don’t you dare call me crazy, James Potter.”

“Well, you are if you think I’m going to one day wake up and realise I’d ever want to be anywhere other than with you. You’re my home. Forever. If you’d let me, I’d make you a Potter tomorrow.” 

A genuinely happy grin spread over her lips and when she looked at him, she could see the sincerity etched into his features. “You’re ridiculous, you know?”

“Yeah.” He leaned forward, kissing her on the cheek once before settling back. “I know. Which leads me to my next point: the boys and I are going to go to Romania.” 

She blinked twice. “What?”

“Remus knew about Lily. Sirius and I left our tracking research out, and he must have put the pieces together and then sussed her out with his damn wolf.” 

“How on earth—”

“He’s bloody brilliant, is how. But regardless, he found her, pregnant as hell, and I just  _ know _ that’s why the git left in a hurry and told you to find her. He probably thinks I’m going to get with the witch now and clearly that’s not the case.” 

“So you’re going to look for him in Romania? Can’t you send an owl?”

James’ jaw hardened, and he shook his head. “No, not this time. He deserves to hear it from me, and he deserves to know that I think he’s a fucking wanker if he walks away from her just because of this. She needs him now more than ever. I know it because it's how I feel about you. I’m still terrified this will be too much for you, and I know Lily. She won’t ask him to stay if she thinks she’ll be a burden.”

An ache settled in her chest. “And Remus would never put himself in the middle.” With a scoff she said, “Those two really are impossible. How on earth are we going to shove them together?” 

Laughing, James moved quickly over her, pinning her to the bed, and he pressed his lips to her jaw. “I'd much rather worry about shoving us together.” 

Hermione giggled, and pressed her shoulder to her cheek, trying to avoid the scratch of his beard. But he was relentless, trailing ticklish kisses down her throat and along her shoulders. Despite having concluded shagging not but half an hour ago, she could feel his erection grow against her centre. 

Something in the way he kissed her always seemed to steal her thoughts away, shifting the universe back onto this perfect moment that existed just for them. 

His hands grabbed the thick of her thigh, spreading her as he sank effortlessly inside her. Together they shared a pleasured moan, her nails sinking into his muscle as he stilled for a moment. 

“I love you.” His breath fanned the curls by her ears, and she drew her knees up, desperate to curl around him and be one. 

Thick emotion rose inside her, because here at the end of the world with all the odds against them, they’d found each other. “I love you, too.” 

xXx

  
  


_ I was hoping you all could meet me at Longbottom Hall today at three o’clock. I know it’s a bit sudden but I have some news. _

_ Lily _

Hermione’s heart stopped as her eyes darted to the clock on the wall. Merlin, how had she missed this? Stabbing her wand into the nest currently residing on the top of her head, she rushed down the stairs to find Molly holding Neville in the drawing room with Ron playing with a stuffed lion at her feet. 

“You’re here?” Hermoine panted. 

Humming, Molly rocked Neville back and forth in her arms. “Lily sent an owl! Finally, the girl wised up. Alice is—” 

“Just getting tea!” Alice interrupted brightly, floating a tea service in the room and then primly taking a seat in the oversized armchair. “I wonder what this is about? We haven’t seen her since Christmas and now all of a sudden? I do hope everything is okay.” 

The front door crashed open, startling poor Ron who screamed and woke Neville. Marlene stomped in the room, her eyes wild and mouth in a frown.

“Merlin! Look what you’ve done,” Molly admonished with a sharp stare, gesturing to the hysterical babies.

“Oh… Sorry.” Marley had the good sense to appear abashed before she took a few more hard steps forward. “Where is she?” 

Alice hushed her and said, “Not here yet. Would you like some tea?”

“The woman ignores her best friend for over seven months and then asks us round for tea? She better have a damn good excuse.” Marley’s eyes lit with fury as she began pacing. 

It had taken everything for Hermione not to tell Marley what had happened. But in the end, it wasn’t her call. 

Behind the witch’s shoulder, a figure with a shock of vibrant red hair appeared, a small bundled infant in her arms. 

“I like to think it’s a pretty good reason,” Lily said quietly, her lips thinning as she stared at the gathered women. 

Hermione grimaced. 

Molly and Alice gaped. 

Marley froze.

  
Then the blonde’s eyes caught on the bundle nestled against Lily’s chest, and she choked out a disbelieving laugh. “Tell me you stole that baby.” 

“Not this time. Ladies, meet Harry, my son.”

Silence followed, the deafening kind of quiet that allowed you to hear the blood pumping in your ears.

“Sorry, what?” Molly finally squeaked. “You—You had a baby?”

Lily nodded. “He was born on the thirty-first of July, just a day after your little man so I hear, Alice?”

Alice was quickly on her feet, hands covering her mouth as happy tears slipped over her cheeks. She crossed the room in a few quick strides and wrapped Lily in a gentle hug. “Congratulations, my darling friend.” 

The two witches shared a private exchange and after a moment, Alice asked to hold Harry. They were both naturals already, as if made for motherhood. Hermione wasn’t so sure she possessed the same talent. 

With Lily’s arms now freed, she turned her attention to Marley. “Don’t be mad.” 

“It’s been seven godsdamned months, Lils. I’m beyond mad.” 

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Lily shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “To be honest, had Hermione not found me, I’m not sure I’d be here at all.” 

Marlene whipped around. “You knew?!”

“Only for a few days… I would have said as such, truly, but it wasn’t my secret to tell,” Hermione admitted softly. 

Scoffing, the blonde continued on, shifting her ire back to Lily. “Who’s the father, then?” 

Lily and Hermione shared a pained frown and the rest of the room seemed to just  _ know _ . 

“Oh my Merlin, not—” 

“Yes,” Lily said, swallowing once. “It was the last time at Sirius’ birthday party and well… yes. It’s James.” 

“Does he know?” Alice asked, her jaw gaping as she rocked Harry back and forth. 

“He does.” 

“Merlin, Morgana, and all four founders,” Molly said mumbled. “Hermione come take Neville, would you? I want to meet the newest little lion.” 

The five of them settled into their seats and a rather uncomfortable round of tea. Lily became acquainted with the two new little boys in the room, and slowly they caught each other up what had happened all these months.

During this, Hermione discovered that Lily had indeed convinced her parents to move for their safety, but her sister and Vernon had remained in their home in Little Whinging. She’d at least been able to ward their home for some semblance of safety.

After that, she’d been on her own. 

She gave birth at a Muggle hospital, alone. 

Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes as she thought of the house full of people awaiting Neville’s arrival. Of the meals she and Molly had prepared so the new mum didn’t even have to walk down the stairs. 

Life was so unfair sometimes. 

They did a baby shuffle and Harry was passed into her arms. She sucked in a hard breath, her jaw trembling at the sight of him. He was so much smaller than Neville but when his green eyes settled on hers, she felt warmth unfurl in her chest. 

He was here. The only obstacle left was to keep him that way.

“Lily?” Hermione interrupted, eyes still trained on the baby in her arms. “Could we talk in private just a moment?”

The other witches looked back and forth between them but remained silent as Lily smiled and nodded. Hermione gave the baby to Marley who huffed in surprise and asked what on earth she was meant to do with a baby. The pair of them ignored her, leaving her with two competent mothers, and made their way to the porch. 

“I’m so happy you came today,” Hermione said once they were out of earshot. 

“So am I; I wasn’t sure I’d be able to honestly. But James convinced me they all deserved to know why I’d left—especially Marley.”

The mention of James caused an uneasiness to skitter along Hermione’s skin. She turned for the railing, setting both hands on the bannister as she stared out at the horizon. “I told James I wouldn’t keep making this into something it’s not but… I’ve asked him, and it's only fair I ask you too.” 

Turning, Hermione stood to her full height, still several inches shorter than the other woman. “Do you want me to step back so you and James—” 

“Absolutely not,” Lily said quickly, but a smile was already forming on her face. “I want to reassure you in no uncertain terms that I don’t want to be with James. Now more than ever, if I’m honest. It’s not exactly the romance I dreamed of: a man choosing me out of obligation when he’d rather be with someone else.” 

Laughing mirthlessly, Lily continued. “I don’t want James. I just want the best for Harry and I believe that having us—all of us—in his life is what’s best. He is going to grow up with all these crazy uncles and a dad who is the worst of them all.” She paused, seriousness settling between them. “He’s my baby. From the moment I saw him, I knew I’d lay down my life for his if it came to it. My entire world shifted with Harry now at the epicentre. And I know that you being a part of his life, in whatever capacity you can manage, will bring happiness to us all. ” 

Hermione let go of a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding at all. 

“If James hasn’t already told you, he’s insisting on paying rent for Harry and I so we can get a nicer flat. I want to stay in Muggle London and out of the war effort for as long as possible. I know Harry’s at stake, and I need him to be safe.” 

“He mentioned it,” Hermione said quietly. “And I’m glad he can help in that way. And thank you, for reassuring me.” 

Herminone turned back for the door and paused only as Lily called out to her. “You two are serious, I take it?”

Turning over her shoulder, she nodded. “We are. I love him very much.” 

“I always knew it’d have to be quite the witch to make James want to settle down. He couldn’t have picked better.” 

The compliment pressed in around her, and she filled her lungs with great effort. 

“Thank you, Lily.”

xXx

  
  


In the weeks that followed, life settled into a strange routine. The Marauders returned from Romania, and while Remus was not with them, James seemed more at peace with the situation. Their wolfish friend would be home for a few months around the holidays, and Hermione had this overwhelming feeling that if they could just get to Christmas, all would be right in the world. 

She spent a little more time with Lily and Harry, even babysat him as the Marauders helped Lily move into her new flat. 

Above all, she loved seeing James with him. It was clear he still felt uncomfortable in his new role, yet there were small moments when she’d look over and see him staring down at his son with such awe. Harry would wrap his tiny hand around his finger, and it was clear to anyone watching that James Potter was done and gone for.

And if it were at all possible, she fell more madly in love. 

Patrol resumed without Alice, and one August evening as Marlene and Hermione were strolling through London, Hermione felt the strangest feeling of anticipation chase through her. 

“Sirius went home? Did he tell you?” Marley asked, twirling her wand between her fingers. 

Hermione choked. “No! He hasn’t mentioned it all. Was he able to put the tracker on Kreacher?”

Shaking her head, Marley stared out at the horizon. “‘Fraid not. Walburga, the bitch that she is, wouldn’t even let him through the front door. She turned him out and said he was no son of hers. I didn’t think he’d want to tell you… He’s still hoping he can get to Kreacher.” 

Hermione ached. Not only for the loss of a possible solution but for Sirius. She remembered too well the scorched tapestry at Grimmauld. 

After a few more paces, Marley continued, “I can feel something coming though, can’t you?” 

That churn in her belly was back, warning her. It’d been present at so many pivotal moments and now it screamed back at her louder than ever. 

“I can.” 

xXx

James hand scorched a trail over her body, his tongue leaving wet kisses across her clavicle as his body pressed her into the mattress. She rolled her hips against him, relishing in the delightful friction of his stiff cock against the seam of her jeans. 

“We should go to your room,” she managed, just as he tugged her strap down to reveal her breasts. 

“No one’s home.” His lips closed around her nipple, and she cried out, back arching into him. In a single fluid movement, he flipped them so she was on her back on the sofa cushions. 

A quiet giggle escaped her while he yanked her jeans down and flung them towards the door. “I’m aware that they aren’t  _ currently _ home, but they could indeed  _ come _ home.” 

James shook his head and knelt between her thighs, dragging a tongue up her now bare seam and stealing the thoughts of intrusion and privacy away. Her fingers threaded into his hair as he inched her towards climax. 

Two fingers pressed inside her folds, driving in and out of her at a furious pace as his tongue danced over her clit. It took a handful of moments before she was coming undone, her back lifting off the sofa as she rode out the final vestiges of her orgasm. 

“Oh my god,” she panted, staring at James through lidded eyes as he yanked his jeans down just enough to free his cock. “You’re in quite the rush.” 

He pushed inside her in one thrust, grinning against her cheek as he pushed her deeper into the cushions. “Well, yeah, love. Someone could home at any moment.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh, though it quickly turned to pleasured cries as he drove into her again and again. His palms groped at her breast as he chased his own orgasm. 

As the final shivers of his pleasure waned, and he went nearly boneless on top of her, she smiled before peppering kisses along his shoulders and neck.

He shifted off of her and tucked himself between the couch and her side, his fingers dancing along her arm. After a while, she felt nearly ready to sleep but he curled around her and buried his face in her riotous curls. 

“Marry me.” 

Hermione stilled, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. 

After a few, painfully long heartbeats, he pulled back to stare at her, his gaze darting over her features as his lips pulled into a smirk. 

“What?” The words floated past her lips on a whisper. 

Outside, there was a  _ crack _ and James cursed and climbed off her, covering her bottom half with a blanket as he jumped back into his jeans and closed the button. 

“I told you!” Hermione hissed, kicking playfully at his bum. He grinned down at her and then they proceeded to completely ignore those two little words he’d just spoken into existence. 

xXx

**A/N: I simply can not believe I have one chapter left of Part 1. This has been such a wonderful year tackling this story and what started out as a 20 chapter story has grown into my longest fanfic yet! Thank you all for reading and following along all these months. Your support has kept me writing and kept me sane in all the madness that’s around us.**

**Thanks as always to Farmulousa, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik. They’re incredible authors and I never stop learning from them. Make sure you check out their works!** **  
** **  
** **Until next time, dear ones.**

**LK**


	41. Chapter 41

Longbottom Hall

September 1980

Hermione’s eyes burned with the strain of reading for so long. One would think her eyes would have become accustomed over the years. They had not. 

She’d been researching different fail-safes for magic for weeks now. Something at the back of her mind kept pressing for it. They’d been in too many situations now where one or more of them had been severely depleted, and if Voldemort continued hiding his Horcruxes behind blood wards, they would be at an extreme disadvantage. 

There were several ways of doing so, as she’d learned. Similar to the concept of a Horcrux, but far less dark, was storing magic in an inanimate object. It could be drawn upon and seemed a safe, if complicated, process. 

Then, there was the act of binding two magical cores. This not only allowed the two to siphon from the other but also amplified their magic when together. It was, however, permanent. 

One of the potion texts mentioned a magical herb that when added to Replenishing Potion slowly fortified one's magic, but the herb wasn’t anything that she or Alice could remember hearing about. 

So, with a long-suffering groan, she closed the book she’d been reading and tossed it on the stack with the others. 

A soft knock at the door alerted her, and she sat tall as it creaked open. James' messy hair preceded him, and he peeked in with a shy smile. 

“Hello, love.” 

“Hi, you. I thought you were working,” she said with a sleepy smile. 

James finally entered, his brow furrowing for a moment before realisation washed over him. “Oh. Oh right. Yes, I have a shift tonight and then all day tomorrow.” 

“All day? They have you working three shifts in a row?” 

He shifted, features pinching up to one side. “Yes.” 

Scoffing, Hermione scooted forward and patted the space next to her. “Well, that’s not exactly safe, you know. You need rest too.” 

“Right.” As he took a seat, his lips quirked in a crooked smile. “Rest. I’ll do that.” 

Nervousness tangled in her belly as she watched him. They hadn’t spoken about what he’d said on the couch a few days ago. It was clear it’d slipped out in a moment of lazy post-coital bliss, and she didn’t want to force him to discuss it if he didn’t want to, but this was quickly becoming unbearable.

“James, are you okay? Is it me or Har—” 

His hand darted out, curling around her knee, and he forced a smile. “I’m okay, I promise. Distract me and tell me what you’re working on.” 

With a long sigh, she settled back. “I wish I knew, honestly. I just have this feeling I’m overlooking something important. Those blood wards seriously deplete your and Sirius’ magic, and we’ll need all we can get. I’ve found a few options but only one of them seems strong enough and isn’t a one-off solution.” 

James leaned back on his elbows and hummed. “And which one is that?”

“Soulbinding.” 

His gaze shot to hers, eyes wide. 

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m not trying to steal your magical core. I’m just saying that of all the options available, it lasts the longest and it makes both cores stronger. It might be an option… for someone. It doesn’t have to be for us or anything.” She ignored James as he began fidgeting and his face ran white. “Maybe Sirius and Marlene? That would at least strengthen their magic, and they’ve been together a while. Maybe they—” 

He scurried off the bed, stumbling as he did and falling to his knees before quickly rushing to his feet. 

“Merlin, James! What on earth has—” 

“I have to go.” 

Hermione blinked. Then blinked again. “What? If it’s something I said…” 

“No, I just have to go.” He worried his bottom lip for a moment and then nodded sharply. “Go to work. Yes. I have to work.” 

Bloody hell, the man was a mess. “Um, okay? Will I see you later? I could come by—” 

“ _ No!”  _ he shouted, slicing his hands through the air before realising himself. “Sorry, that was an overreaction. It’s just, well, I won’t be home later. Three shifts, remember? I’ll just catch a nap at the office before the morning shift begins. So the day after tomorrow, then?”

Something unsettling draped over her shoulders but she nodded anyway, rising to her feet. “Okay. I really am sorry if I did something. I wasn’t trying to imply that  _ we _ —” She stopped when his face turned crimson, and he started wildly gesticulating for her to cease speaking. With a huff, she acquiesced. “Fine. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” 

She took a few steps towards him and lifted onto her toes to press a kiss to his lips. Strangely enough, he wrapped her in a tight embrace and deepened the kiss, one hand pushing into her curls as he slanted his lips over hers again and again. 

When their lips parted, he said, “I’m sorry; I’m being weird I know. Just something I’ve got going on, but it’ll be better tomorrow. I love you.” 

Some of her anxiety eased, but not much. “I love you, too.” 

Then he was gone with only an awkward waggle of his fingers before disappearing. 

xXx

Hermione had a fitful night of sleep, strange dreams haunting each hour until finally, just before sunrise, she relented and woke. 

Sitting up, she rubbed at her eyes, trying to reach out and grapple with the tendrils of a dream floating away. Three shapes had kept reappearing to her in different forms: a shimmering silver triangle, a golden circle, a red line. 

Then, just before she’d woken, the shapes had converged into a single symbol. A symbol she knew she’d seen before—more than once. 

Throwing back the covers, she fell to her knees at the edge of her bed and began sifting through the stack of books next to her end table. She found the black leather spine easily and pulled it free, her fingers trailing over the raised lettering and the symbol she’d seen in her dreams. 

_ Masters of Death _ by I. Peverell III

She flipped open the cover, skimming the first few pages as her memory was fleshed out from when she’d read it all those months ago. 

Mostly it was an anthology of rumors and myths surrounding the elusive Deathly Hallows, comprised of the Invisibility Cloak, the Elder Wand, and the Resurrection Stone. 

Invisibility Cloaks existed—they were rare, but they weren’t necessarily some mythological mystery. The Cloak, not being the only one, was the least carefully tracked throughout the generations. Certainly, a Potter held one but several other prominent magical families had been rumoured to hold it as well. 

However, the existence of a single cloak did not make the Hallows real. 

She flipped to the second part of the book, The Elder Wand. In the pale early light shining through her window, she read as quickly as she could, flipping through pages that seemed unuseful until her eyes caught on a single name. The last known owner of the presumed Hallow. 

Gellert Grindelwald. 

Hermione sat back, her thumb stuffed in the pages to keep her place as flashbacks of Dumbledore’s biography came forward. 

Still in her sleep clothes, she rushed down the stairs, socks slick across the wooden floorboards as she slid into the kitchen. Frank was there, Neville in the crook of his arm and a cup of steaming tea at his lips. He swallowed a quick sip and smiled at her. 

“Morning, Hermione. You’re up early.” 

The door opened and Dorcas and Benji entered, looking sleepy-eyed and barely awake. 

“Frank, Hermione,” Benji greeted them, crossing the kitchen for the kettle. “Have we properly hexed Alastor for these sunrise briefings?”

Stretching her neck, Dorcas yawned and fell into a chair at the table. “Not properly, but I’m on it as soon as humanly possible.”

“Dorcas,” Hermione choked, rushing to the table and collapsing into a seat. “I need you to tell me everything you know about the battle between Grindlewald and Dumbledore.” 

The room tittered in quiet laughter, and Dorcas rubbed at her eyes. “It’s a bit early for history, isn’t it?”

“It’s important.” 

Dorcas seemed to sense the urgency and studied Hermione for a moment before relenting. “Well, I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it, not even while we were at school and learning about it. I’ve always gotten the impression it’s not a memory he’s all that fond of, to be honest.” 

“It happened when, exactly?” 

“When was it?” Dorcas’ features pinched to one side. “Mid-forties?” 

Hermione quickly flipped to the front of the book and scanned the front matter.  _ Masters of Death _ published in 1931. 

“Could it be possible that Grindlewald had the Elder Wand?” 

Benji coughed, and she turned to where he stood next to Frank. “Elder Wand? Like from the fable?”

“I think—I think maybe they aren’t. They might be real.” 

Clucking his tongue, Frank adjusted Neville in his arms. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard any supporting evidence that they might actually exist outside of the children’s tale.” 

“I know,” Hermione confessed, shifting in her seat. “But I can’t help it… something is there. And this book, written by the descendants of the Peverell brothers, says that they do. If they do, and Grindlewald did indeed have the Elder Wand—” 

“Grindelwald is in prison, Hermione,” Dorcas said quietly. 

“What would have happened to his belongings? To his wand…” 

“Wand magic is binding,” Benji said seriously. “Allegiance is only broken or shifted under extreme duress.  _ But _ , when a wizard is defeated, the wand then belongs to the witch or wizard who defeated him.” 

“Oh my gods…” Hermione’s heart hammered against her sternum as the three Order members shared confused looks. “If this book is accurate, which I know is a long shot, that would mean Albus Dumbledore has the Elder Wand. And if the Cloak and the Elder Wand are real, then that means that the Resurrection Stone is as well.” 

Something inside her solidified and steeled. As bizarre as it may seem, Hermione was sure she knew the location of two of the three Deathly Hallows. 

xXx

  
  


Hermione locked herself in the library. 

She pored over every tome she could get her fingers on about magical lore and the possibility of a stone that could presumably bring the dead back to life. 

From everything she’d learned about magic, even from the myths she’d learned as a child, she’d thought it was impossible. Once someone crossed the veil, they weren’t able to be retrieved. 

Furthermore, what were the ramifications of  _ being _ the Master of Death?

The Floo roared to life but Hermione didn’t tear her gaze from the current page she was buried in. 

“Hello?” Marlene’s voice floated through the air, but Hermione only grumbled and waved dismissively in her direction. “Hermione Granger. Are you alright?”

“'Course.” Stowing her wand between her teeth, she secured her riotous curls up in a knot and then curled back to continue reading. 

“Put the book down, Hermione.” 

That was enough to interrupt her thoughts, and her gaze shot to her friend, brow furrowing in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I don’t think you’ve seen the light of day today.” 

Hermione looked over Marlene’s shoulder and was shocked to find that the late afternoon sun was streaming through the windows on the far side of the library. “I’m onto something.” 

“You’re coming out with me tonight.” 

With a loud, exasperated huff, Hermione violently shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t.” 

Marlene’s chin canted to the side, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment before she crossed the space between them and wrangled the book from Hermione’s grasp. “We both could use it.” 

Hermione’s lips parted to object but Marlene pressed on with a mumbled, “Please?”

Pouting, she relented and stood. “Where do you want to go? And how long will it take?”

“Oh, you’re not going like  _ that _ ,” Marley scoffed, pointing to the wrinkled, disheveled clothing Hermione was sporting. “I’ll go and get ready. You do the same and I’ll come back for you. Deal?”

Of all the ways Hermione could think to spend her evening, dolled up and on a girl’s night was far from ideal. But she could see something in her friend's expression that implored for Hermione to take a break. Folding her lips into a thin line, she nodded. 

“Deal.” 

xXx

For the sake of her friend, she’d showered, took the time to smooth her curls, and donned her simple black dress. She even went so far as to sweep some mascara over her eyelashes and pinch her cheeks for good measure. 

Grabbing her pocketbook, she began to trot down the stairs, stopping only as she heard the Floo roar to life and the stomping of heavy boots through the library. 

“Hermione!” Sirius' voice startled her, her heart twisting and sinking as she rushed to where he stood. “You need to come with me. Now.” 

“Wait, what? I’m meant to be going with Marlene. What—” 

His eyes tightened, his lips pulling into a frown. “It’s James.” 

Those two words brought the universe to a standstill. The air pushed violently from her lungs, and she tried to form words.“Where is he? Is he hurt?” 

Through the whooshing in her ears, she barely made out the vague noises Sirius was making as he tugged her from the house and past the Apparition line. 

Hermione stopped, blinking into the darkness, and when she turned to him, she swore his lips twitched into a smile before he closed his fingers around her arm and they disappeared in a curl of smoke and magic. 

xXx

When they landed, Hermione’s feet sank into soft earth. Her stomach rolled as she fought off the impending nausea and pressed her fingers to her lips. 

Opening her eyes, she realised at once that she wasn’t anywhere where she thought they’d be. They were… They were in a clearing. A meadow. 

“Sirius, where are we?”

He crowded close to her, arm draping over her shoulders. “Sorry to frighten you, Kitten. I didn’t think you’d come with me otherwise, and Marley wasn’t sure she could keep the secret.” 

Hermione blinked up at her friend. “Secret?” 

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, and he guided her to turn. A sharp gasp filled her lungs as she spied James Potter in the middle of meadow and very much unharmed. The tall grass dusted around his kneecaps and orbs of varying size floated in the air around them, all emitting a soft rosy glow that illuminated the sharp lines of his face. 

“James?”

“I’ll just leave you to it. Good luck, mate.” Sirius’ hand fell away; with a soft  _ pop _ he was gone. 

“What’s going on? I thought you were at work?”

His chin ticked to the side, a smile fighting it’s way onto his full lips. “I lied a bit, hope you don’t mind.” 

“Wh—” 

He hushed her gently and held his hand out for her. “Come here, love.” 

With each step, her heart picked up tempo but as soon as her hand was resting in his, all once again felt right in the world. Up close she could see the mistiness in his hazel eyes and the serious set to his jaw. 

“I’m so confused,” she said quietly, left hand coming up to cradle his cheek. 

“Well, I won’t keep you in suspense since I know you hate to not have all the answers.” He rested his hand over hers and pulled it away, kissing her palm and then holding her tight. “I’m so in love with you.” 

A genuine smile spread over her face and a niggling thought encroached on her mind but she quickly pushed it back. “I love you too.” 

“That’s good. That’s… Yes, that’s good. That makes the next part a little easier.” Still holding her hand, James sank to one knee. 

Her heart fluttered into her throat, tears forming immediately along her lashes as she stared in sheer disbelief at the man. 

“I still can’t quite understand how I got here,” James said. “Because one year ago I was sure I’d live the rest of my days with nothing but three blokes for company. Then, in the most ridiculous turn of fate, you came stomping into my life.” He smiled up at her, and she couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her as she considered those first few moments when she was sure she hated the fool. 

“You are a testament to how much one woman can change a man. Everyday I want to be better, I want to build something for you—for us. I want to be a man you deserve.” 

“James, you already are…” 

He shook his head, swallowing thickly. “I will be. I’ll never quit trying. I promise that everyday I’ll do better than the day before. For the rest of my life.” 

Hermione sucked in a quick breath and held it there as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box with a golden clasp. “We’re in a war,” she rushed. “And we’re  _ young _ … and we can’t be ready.” 

“I don’t care,” he said seriously, gripping her hand a little tighter. “Marry me anyway.” 

She scoffed, a tear finally breaking free. “What?”

“Marry me anyway; even if we are young and at war and maybe not ready. When Harry came into my life, you could have left. You could have left me a dozen times before then and maybe a dozen since. I want us to be a family for as many days as I have left. If it all ends on Halloween 1981, I want it to be as your husband.” 

An elated sob erupted from her lungs, and she shook her head, swiping frantically at the tears coating her cheeks. “You’re mad, James Potter. Absolutely mad.” 

“Maybe,” he said with a crooked smile.  _ “Marry me anyway.”  _

He pushed the clasp of the box open and nestled inside was a beautiful diamond ring on a delicate golden band. 

Maybe being as young as she was and under the circumstances they were, she ought to consider it a bit longer, but when she looked at him, she knew. 

She knew there was never going to be anyone else but him. 

“Of course, I will,” she breathed. His lips stretched into a proud grin, and he was off his knee and banding his arms around her a second later. 

He kissed her again and again and again, laughter and tears mixed in. When their lips parted, he slipped the ring on her third finger with a trembling hand. He muttered a spell and the band closed snugly around her finger, where she expected it would sit the rest of her life.

“Is this why you’ve been so shifty since the other day?”

James lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the ring on her finger. “Well, you see I realised that the girl of my dreams probably deserved a better proposal than half naked on a shitty sofa.” 

She barked out a laugh and pressed her forehead into his chest before looking up at him. “I’d still have said yes.” 

Everything she said had been true. There were Horcruxes left to find, a Dark Lord and Death Eaters to overcome. They had to save their friends from terrible fates and protect the future generation at all costs. 

And they would. 

But, for now, Hermione settled into the most wonderful truth that the universe and time and destiny had bent their wills for her. They’d changed the fabric of the future just to bring her to this man and she’d do her best to make sure she’d earned it. 

“I love you,” he whispered into her curls, taking her in his arms as they swayed in the glowing lights. 

“I love you more.” 

James scoffed. “I promise you that’s not possible.” 

**End of Part One.**

  
  


**Epilogue**

December 1980

Months passed. The leaves withered and fell, snow collected on the windowsills, and the war, for once, seemed to quiet. 

Remus had come home and while he and Lily moved in a strange, wide orbit of each other, it was plain to anyone paying attention that their affection for each other had not waned. The rest of the Marauders settled into their lives and work as though there weren't a war at all. 

The days until James and Hermione’s union were numbered, set for New Years Eve so they could start 1981, and the most important year of their lives,  _ together. _

Now, with fat snowflakes falling to the ground outside and curled in James’ bed, they were a tangle of limbs and sheets. The steady rise and fall of James’ chest was quickly lulling Hermione into a sated sleep as his fingers mapped a trail over her back. 

Things were  _ perfect. _

And Hermione couldn’t help but think that in all the moments she’d called hers since she got her Hogwarts letter, only a handful had been truly perfect. 

But this was. 

For one stolen splinter of time, life was exactly as it should be. 

But those moments never last. 

James felt it first, a hiss escaping his lips as his gaze shot to bicep where his phoenix grew angry and crimson. A moment later, she cried out, a fevered burn branding into her shoulder blade. They both shot up to seated, dragging in desperate breaths as she reached back and felt the raised lines of her tattoo. 

She’d been summoned more than once but… never like this. She could feel the panic and adrenaline of the caster thrumming in her own veins as if it were her own.

Gasping, visions flooded her vision. Masked Death Eaters, people fleeing, flames, smoke, and screams. 

Then, finally,  _ Longbottom Hall. _

James choked out a breath, blinking back into reality. His gaze locked on hers, worry rimming his hazel eyes. “What’s the chance I can get you to stay?”

Scoffing, Hermione threw back the duvet and rolled her eyes. “There isn’t one. Let’s go.” 

xXx

**A/N: Ah! I can’t believe Part 1 is over. Big thanks to my lovely friends Farmulousa, NuclearNik, and Ravenslight for all their work. Seriously.** **_Seriously._ ** **Not only are they brilliant but every week for eight months they’ve spent their own time caring and helping me craft this story. I love you all!** **  
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** **I know there is a little something to lead you into Part 2 but I do hope the ending was in some way satisfying! Part 2 kicks off right before 1981 and will take us through the final year of the first wizarding war. Canonically, shit happens hard and fast in those last months and I’m really excited to explore how Hermione tracks down the final Horcruxes.**

**I also want to thank you all! This story is so far outside my comfort zone and knowing that you all were reading, commenting, favoriting, rec’ing, and loving on this story kept me going. I didn’t expect this small rare-pair to get so much love and I’m just grateful to you all.**

**You can hopefully expect Part 2 in 2021. I’m going to take November to do NaNoWriMo and work on some original fiction. I’m hoping to pick up 1979 in December and when I have a good bank of chapters, I’ll begin posting again.** **  
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** **Thank you again for everything. Stay safe, always.**

**Until next time,**

**LK**

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to see facecasts, covers, and aesthetics for this piece please checkout my tumblr! Handle is LadyKenz347 and is tagged under 1979.


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